'With a pudding clout,' persisted Devereux.
'No. With a—pooh!—a—you know—and stabbed himself,' continued O'Flaherty.
'With a larding-pin—'tis written in good Italian.'
'Augh, not at all—it isn't Italian, but English, I'm thinking of—a pilla, Puddock, you know—the black rascal.'
'Well, English or Italian—tragedy or comedy,' said Devereux, who liked Puddock, and would not annoy him, and saw he was hurt by Othello's borrowing his properties from the kitchen; 'I venture to say you were well entertained: and for my part, Sir, there are some characters'—(in farce Puddock was really highly diverting)—'in which I prefer Puddock to any player I every saw.'
'Oh—ho—ho!' laughed poor little Puddock, with a most gratified derisiveness, for he cherished in secret a great admiration for Devereux.
And so they talked stage-talk. Puddock lithping away, grand and garrulous; O'Flaherty, the illiterate, blundering in with sincere applause; and Devereux sipping his claret and dropping a quiet saucy word now and again.
'I shall never forget Mrs. Cibber's countenance in that last scene—you know—in the "Orphan"—Monimia you know, Devereux.' And the table being by this time in high chat, and the chairs a little irregular, Puddock slipped off his, and addressing himself to Devereux and O'Flaherty—just to give them a notion of Mrs. Cibber—began, with a countenance the most wobegone, and in a piping falsetto—
'When I am laid low, i' the grave, and quite forgotten.'
Monimia dies at the end of the speech—as the reader may not be aware; but when Puddock came to the line—