'Hang it, no, my son!' exclaimed the old actor, with a capital mixture of humour and dignity. 'I act for my bread; I let my friends pay for the sack. I may, or I may not, be an ornament to my profession; that is a matter of public opinion and public taste; but whether I am or am not, I am not ashamed to say I act for my bread. I was speaking to these gentlemen also--your healths, gentlemen--of the decadence of the drama. In the halcyon days of youth, in the days of the great Kemble (I made him my model; I trust I do not tarnish his fair fame), the drama was worth something. But now, when a fellow like this Fitzherbert--a man who has been pitchforked, so to speak, into the profession--comes in and takes all the fat of the piece, and when he is puffed and posted and advertised into a successful engagement, and when every other worthy member of the company is pushed into a corner, and compelled, so to speak, to hold a variety of lighted candies to show off his spurious brightness, it's an infernal hard thing to each of us as individuals, and a degradation to the drama as an art.' 'Bravo, Mac!' said one and another, some in sincerity, some to humour the old actor. 'You are certainly right, sir,' said one of the strangers, speaking with the deference due to so eminent an authority. Your glass is empty; will you fill again?' 'Ay, till the crack of doom,' was the ready reply. 'Right, sir! of course I'm right.' 'But,' said another of the strangers, not quite so deferential as the former speaker, some one must play second fiddle.' 'Second fiddle, sir! Yes, I admit it, sir. Some one _must_ play second fiddle--and third fiddle too, if you like. But let the man who plays second fiddle _be_ a second fiddle, and not a first fiddle.' 'Who is to blame for all this?' asked the deferential stranger. 'Who's to blame, sir! The public, sir--the public. But what consolation is that to me? I must live, sir, I suppose. I must feed my family, or answer for it to the beak. Here am I, who will place my Macbeth in comparison with any man's--who can play Hamlet, Lear, Othello, Brutus, in a masterly manner--I don't say it _of_ myself; it has been said of me--here am I compelled to knuckle-under to a man young enough to be my son, and with not a tenth part of my brains or experience. And what's the consequence? I haven't had a call for six months, while he gets called on three times a night. Why, sir, I remember the time when a discriminating audience called me on six times in one piece! I've had a dozen bouquets thrown to me in one night! And now, sir, these things are forgotten, and old Mac is shelved, sir, shelved!' 'The public ought to be ashamed of themselves,' said the deferential stranger.