"I didn't notice he had a parcel with him," replied Jefferson.
"He is tanked up to the collar button," I said. "Oh, what a lovely skate he has!"
"Tanked up to the collar button and skate? What the devil are you talking about. You have a vernacular, my dear Nat, that requires translation. What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you notice his condition?" I asked. "He's loaded to the eyebrows."
"Tight?" asked Jefferson.
"As a new drum," I replied.
"I can't realize it," said Jefferson. "My eyesight prevented my scanning his face as accurately as I could wish. I noticed his conversation was a bit measured, but very well expressed. I can't believe he was under the influence of liquor. Are you sure?"
I replied with much pride in my delivery, "You can't deceive an artist."
Jefferson simply screamed at this remark and during the afternoon repeated the incident several times to each and every member of the company. It met with so much favor and seemed to amuse the people to such an extent that for several years, by imitating both Sol and Jefferson, I made it one of the best stories of my repertoire.
I once told the story to a number of actors at the Green Room Club in London. At the finish, "You can't deceive an artist," it failed to provoke the laughter it always aroused in America and I thought I noticed a look of blank amazement on my auditors' faces. I paid no attention to it at the time, attributing their lack of appreciation to their density or their limited acquaintance with the mannerism of the gentlemen I was imitating. Three weeks later Fred Terry met me on the Strand and with much gravity apologized for the silent manner his confrères at the club had received my story.