The whole thing was new to a French literary man, who politely asked the guest on his right, “Why does he walk up and down when he does this thing? Does it add to the volume of the sound, or does it make a cadence?”
“No,” said the other, “I don’t think it’s that. I fancy it’s to prevent the listeners getting his range with a knife or a water bottle.”
Some time ago Professor Brander Matthews went to dine at a certain dramatic club in New York. Going to the club letter box he picked up and perused a letter which seemed to be addressed to him. It was a request from a tailor for the settlement of his little bill. As the man’s name was quite strange to him he made a careful examination, and finding that he had been mistaken, put the missive back into its place. Immediately afterward he saw the real owner take possession of it, walk into the reading-room, read it carefully, and tear it into shreds. Then, assured of an audience, the man whose clothes were still unpaid for, assumed the weary smile of an accomplished ladykiller and remarked audibly, “Poor, silly, little girl!”
A street-car “masher” tried in every way to attract the attention of the pretty young girl opposite him. Just as he had about given up, the girl, entirely unconscious of what had been going on, happened to glance in his direction. The “masher” immediately took fresh courage.
“It’s cold out to-day, isn’t it?” he ventured.
The girl smiled and nodded assent, but had nothing to say.