Once upon a time there was a young man who felt sure that within his bosom burned the incandescent light of dramatic fire. To assure the world of this fact he secured a position as supernumerary in a theatrical combination which was presenting a repertoire of classical tragedies.
Of course, all great careers have an humble start; so had his. All that was required of him was to come on R. U. E., when the lordly baron was about to take his regal bride to his proud ancestral halls, and inform him, and the audience:
"My lord, the carriage waits."
The leading lady, who played the fair young bride, was rather inclined to embonpoint, as we say when we wish to insinuate as delicately as possible that some one is fat.
The budding genius had rehearsed his lines—or line—until he felt that he was letter perfect. He haunted the wings all evening until he heard his cue. Then he strutted onto the scene, struck a tragic pose, and announced excitedly:
"My Lord! She carries weights!"
Frank Stockton tells a fish story. A gentleman asked a question of a boy who was fishing. The boy mumbled an indistinct response. "Why don't you speak plainly?" said the gentleman. "What have you in your mouth?"
"Wums—wums for bait," answered the boy.