“You might” she said, her sharp accents in strong contrast to his deeper yet softer tones.
“Thank you, madam,” he said. “The question, madam, relates to the dog you air carrying. Is that your own dog?”
“It is,” she said.
“Is that the only dog you’ve got?”
“It is.”
“Madam,” said Cap’n Joe, “ain’t you mighty nigh out of dog?”
§ 191 Assigning G. B. S. to His Place
When George Bernard Shaw, as a young man, emerged from his native Ireland and moved to England he began writing a column for a London weekly publication.
At that time Oscar Wilde was enjoying his vogue as a wit and an epigram-maker. One evening an acquaintance, calling upon Wilde, happened upon a copy of the paper to which Shaw was a contributor and reading therein one of Shaw’s characteristic articles which was signed with the author’s initials, said to his host:
“I say, Wilde, who is this chap G. B. S. who’s doing a department for this sheet?”