§ 179 The Cockney and the Lady
Mrs. Pat Campbell has rather a caustic wit, as her friends—and more especially her enemies—can testify. On one occasion an interview with her was besought by a London playwright for whom personally Mrs. Campbell did not care very deeply. The playwright was a self-educated cockney. Sometimes in moments of forgetfulness he lapsed into the idioms of his youth.
He desired an opportunity to tender Mrs. Campbell a play he had just completed and in which he hoped she might consent to take the star rôle. She sat in silence while he read the script, act by act.
When he had finished he looked up, expecting some word of approval or at least of comment from his auditor. Mrs. Campbell, with a noncommital look on her face, said nothing at all. An awkward pause ensued.
“Ahem,” said the dramatist at length, “I’m afraid my play seemed rather long to you?”
“Long? Well, rather!” drawled the lady. “It took you over two hours to read it—without the h’s.”
§ 180 Neither Here Nor There
Two French Canadians were traveling down a Quebec river in a houseboat. One of them knew the river and the other did not.
They anchored for the night on a bar. During the night the river rose and along toward daylight the craft went adrift. Three hours later the motion awoke one of the travelers. He poked his head out of the door. An entirely strange section of scenery was passing.
“Baptiste! Baptiste!” he yelled. “Get up! We ain’t here some more.”