"I think I will take a run over to Buffalo Bill's place in the morning, before the matinée."
I told him I would; it would be a good run for him.
Buffalo Bill lives in North Platte, Nebraska.
One of the provincial music halls in England has the roof arranged like a roll-top desk, so that in hot weather it can be rolled back, thus making a sort of roof garden out of it. An American Song and Dance Team was making their first European appearance there; their act was a much bigger hit than they had anticipated; and when they came off at the end of their act one of them said delightedly to the other,
"Say, we just kicked the roof off of them, didn't we?"
"I beg pawdon, old chap," said the stage manager, overhearing him; "it rolls off, you know."
James Thornton and Fred Hallen were coming out of the Haymarket Theater in Chicago; Jim, who was ahead, let the door slam back against Fred.
"Oh, Good Lord," howled Fred, hanging on to his elbow; "right on the funny bone."