"Ah, thanks, awfully, doncher know. It's very good of you to say that. By the way, what do you—aw—think I will be distinguished for?"
"Longevity," said the minx.
It was cruel, perhaps, but I've no doubt she enjoyed it.
But Miss Gutting sometimes finds her match in the grim old Wall Street operator whom she calls papa.
She has a passion for hats, and of course her Easter creation was a dandy.
"Isn't it a duck of a hat?" she asked the old gentleman, parading it before him.
"Certainly; only I'd call it a pelican," he said, grimly glancing at the account on his desk, "judging from the size of the bill."
I suppose you've noticed that I've done a good deal of chin-scratching to-night. Some people do that when they're thinking hard, but not so with me. Oh, no, the simple fact is I got shaved by a new barber and I guess I'll grow a beard in future. Some people say there's lots of comedy in a barber shop. They mean tragedy. Again some people think there's poetry in the prattlings of the knight of the brush. I know one man who thinks different. Little Archie Rickets has a horror of the tribe and has a scheme to head 'em off.