“Come, Soaper,” said Mr. Snarl.
Mr. Soaper lingered one moment to say: “You shall always have my good word, Mr. Triplet.”
“I will try—and not deserve it, Mr. Soaper,” was the prompt reply.
“Serve 'em right,” said Mr. Cibber, as soon as the door had closed upon them; “for a couple of serpents, or rather one boa-constrictor. Soaper slavers, for Snarl to crush. But we were all a little too hard on Triplet here; and, if he will accept my apology—”
“Why, sir,” said Triplet, half trembling, but driven on by looks from Mrs. Woffington, “'Cibber's Apology' is found to be a trifle wearisome.”
“Confound his impertinence!” cried the astounded laureate. “Come along, Jemmy.”
“Oh, sir,” said Quin, good-humoredly, “we must give a joke and take a joke. And when he paints my portrait—which he shall do—”
“The bear from Hockley Hole shall sit for the head!”
“Curse his impudence!” roared Quin. “I'm at your service, Mr. Cibber,” added he, in huge dudgeon.
Away went the two old boys.