“Hi! Hi!” called a policeman. “Stop there, in the name of the law!”
His Majesty is said to have slackened speed and called out: “But I’m the king!”
“Jest you come aht o’ that,” was the reply; “yer the third king wot’s come along this morning.”
In order to play “Rosemary” some years ago, John Drew shaved off his mustache, thereby greatly changing his appearance. Shortly afterward he met Max Beerbohm in the lobby of a London theater, but could not just then recall who the latter was. Mr. Beerbohm’s memory was better.
“Oh, Mr. Drew,” he said, “I’m afraid you don’t know me without your mustache.”
A truly eloquent parson had been preaching for an hour or so on the immortality of the soul.
“I looked at the mountains,” he declaimed, “and could not help thinking, ‘Beautiful as you are, you will be destroyed, while my soul will not.’ I gazed upon the ocean and cried, ‘Mighty as you are you will eventually dry up, but not I.’”