WOFF. (_looking down at them with comical horror_). Fifteen acts, mercy on us! TRIP. Which if I could submit to Mrs. Woffington's judgment---- WOFF. (_recoiling_). I am no judge of such things, sir. TRIP. No more is the manager of this theatre. WOFF. What! has he accepted them? TRIP. No! madam! he has had them six months and returned them without a word. WOFF. Patience, my good sir, patience! authors of tragedies should learn that virtue of their audiences. Do you know I called on Mr. Rich fifteen times before I could see him? TRIP. You, madam, impossible! WOFF. Oh, it was some years ago--and he has had to pay a hundred pounds for each of those little visits--let me see,--fifteen times--you must write twelve more tragedies--sixty acts--and then he will read one, and give you his judgment at last, and when you have got it--it won't be worth a farthing. (_turns up reading her part._) TRIP. (_aside_). One word from this laughing lady, and all my plays would be read--but I dare not ask her--she is up in the world, I am down. She is great--I am nobody--besides they say she is all brains and no heart (_crosses to L. Moves sorrowfully towards L. D., taking his picture_). WOFF. He looks like a fifth act of a domestic tragedy. Stop, surely I know that doleful face--Sir! TRIP. Madam! WOFF. (_beckons_). We have met before;--don't speak; yours is a face that has been kind to me, and I never forget those faces. TRIP. Me, madam! I know better what is due to you than to be kind to you. WOFF. To be sure! it is Mr. Triplet, good Mr. Triplet of Goodman's-fields Theatre. TRIP. It is, madam (_opening his eyes with astonishment_); but we don't call him Mr., nor even good. WOFF. Yes; it is Mr. Triplet (_shakes both his hands warmly; he timidly drops a tragedy or two_). Don't you remember a little orange girl at Goodman's Fields you used sometimes to pat on the head and give sixpence to, some seven years ago, Mr. Triplet? TRIP. Ha! ha! I do remember one, with such a merry laugh and bright eye; and the broadest brogue of the whole sisterhood. WOFF. Get along with your blarney then, Mr. Triplet, an' is it the comether ye'd be puttin' on poor little Peggy? TRIP. Oh! oh! gracious goodness, oh! WOFF. Yes; that friendless orange girl was Margaret Woffington! Well, old friend, you see time has treated me well. I hope he has been as kind to you; tell me, Mr. Triplet. TRIP. (_aside_). I must put the best face on it with her. Yes, madam, he has blessed me with an excellent wife and three charming children. Mrs. Triplet was Mrs. Chatterton, of Goodman's Fields--great in the juvenile parts--you remember her? WOFF. (_very drily_). Yes, I remember her; where is she acting? TRIP. Why, the cares of our family--and then her health (_sighs_). She has not acted these eight months. WOFF. Ah!--and are you still painting scenes? TRIP. With the pen, madam, not the brush! as the wags said, I have transferred the distemper from my canvas to my imagination, ha! ha!