“And no comic songs either?” he asked.
“You’ve heard a lot of comic songs this evening,” I replied.
“Oh, those,” he said. “I don’t call those comic. They’re not comic songs, they’re comic-opera songs. Don’t you have the others any more?”
“Not at this kind of hall,” I said. “I daresay there may be a singer or so left somewhere, with too big a coat and too small a hat, but not here.”
“Then what are all the old performers doing?” he asked.
“I believe they’re starving,” I said.
“A Novel Hospital at Sheffield.”—Yorkshire Post.
Some of them certainly want a bit of doctoring.