Father. "Look here, Billy, Mr. Smith called at the office this morning about your fight with his boy yesterday."
Son. "Did he? I hope you got on as well as I did."
Joan (whose mother has just bought her a pair of woollen gloves). "Oh, Mummy, I wish you had got kid. I hate this kind; they make my sweets so hairy."
THE SAD CASE OF EL GRECO.
It was at the National Gallery, situated on the north side of Trafalgar Square, that I first made the acquaintance of one Domenico Theotocopuli, a native of Crete, who—probably because his own people wanted him to be a stockbroker or something—set up as a painter in Spain, and was dubbed by the Dons "El Greco," as you might say "Scottie."