Miss V. (with calm superiority). Several of their songs—if you call that anything.
The U. F. I should be inclined to call it a good deal too much!
Miss V. (compassionately). Would you? Poor dear Father! But you never were very modern, were you?
[A Blind-folded Lady on the Stage has been reading and adding up figures on a black board, and now offers to tell the day of the week of any person's birth in the audience.
Her Colleague. Will some gentleman kindly oblige me with the date of his birth?
The Fiancée. Now, Jack, tell yours. I want you to.
Jack (in an unnaturally gruff voice). Fourteenth of February, eighteen-sixty-nine!
The Blindfolded Lady (with the air of the Delphic Pythia). Yes—that fell upon a Monday. [Applause.
Her Coll. Is that correct, Sir?
Jack. Don't know.