DANGLE.
Nay, don’t be modest, Sneer; my friend Puff only talks to you in the style of his profession.
SNEER.
His profession.
PUFF.
Yes, sir; I make no secret of the trade I follow: among friends and brother authors, Dangle knows I love to be frank on the subject, and to advertise myself viva voce.—I am, sir, a practitioner in panegyric, or, to speak more plainly, a professor of the art of puffing, at your service—or anybody else’s.
SNEER.
Sir, you are very obliging!—I believe, Mr. Puff, I have often admired your talents in the daily prints.
PUFF.
Yes, sir, I flatter myself I do as much business in that way as any six of the fraternity in town.—Devilish hard work all the summer, friend Dangle,—never worked harder! But, hark’ee,—the winter managers were a little sore, I believe.
DANGLE.
No; I believe they took it all in good part.
PUFF.
Ay! then that must have been affectation in them: for, egad, there were some of the attacks which there was no laughing at!
SNEER.
Ay, the humorous ones.—But I should think, Mr. Puff, that authors would in general be able to do this sort of work for themselves.
PUFF.
Why, yes—but in a clumsy way. Besides, we look on that as an encroachment, and so take the opposite side. I dare say, now, you conceive half the very civil paragraphs and advertisements you see to be written by the parties concerned, or their friends? No such thing: nine out of ten manufactured by me in the way of business.
SNEER.
Indeed!