"Four-and-eleven a yard."
"Pity! You could have had it from me at three!"
He gave me his business card. "That's it, nurse," he said, as he wrote on the back of it. "Drop me a line to that address and you'll get any material for underwear at trade prices."
He booked one or two orders the night he went away—not laughingly, not as a joke, but with deep seriousness, and gravely pleased that he was able to do what he could for us. He was a traveller in ladies' underwear. I have seldom met any one so little a snob....
Watch Mr. Gray singing....
One hand on the piano, one on his hip:
"I love every mouse in that old-fashioned house."
"That fellow can sing!" whispers the man beside me.
"Is he a professional?" I asked as, finishing, the singer made the faintest of bows and walked back to his chair.