Mrs.Triplet's health had long been failing; and, although her duties at her little theater were light and occasional, the manager was obliged to discharge her, since she could not be depended upon.
The family had not enough to eat! Think of that! They were not warm at night, and they felt gnawing and faintness often by day.

Think of that! Fortune was unjust here.

The man was laughable, and a goose; and had no genius either for writing, painting, or acting; but in that he resembled most writers, painters, and actors of his own day and ours.

He was not beneath the average of what men call art, and it is art's antipodes--treadmill artifice.
Other fluent ninnies shared gain, and even fame, and were called 'penmen,' in Triplet's day.

Other ranters were quietly getting rich by noise.