Nor do they have any patience with delays.

Things must hustle right along down there to be popular.

Once this same actor tried to give a scene from Othello, where the filmy handkerchief plays such a part as evidence of Desdemona's amours.

You remember Iago sets up the game on his friend and talks about

Othello demands the handkerchief be produced, and repeats this several times in order to make it more effective.

The audience, or some of them at least, failed to appreciate this repetition, and grew decidedly restless.

At last, when for the third time Othello called for the handkerchief, somebody yelled out.

"Wipe yer nose on yer slaive, ye naygur, and let the play prosade."

Of course you all know that of late years a certain class of women have taken to enjoying man's attire.

Personally I don't like it.

There are some who do.

When I mentioned my prejudice to Bob Corwin only the other day he fairly jumped on me.

"Disapprove of it!" he said, "Great Scott, no! I wouldn't have it different for the world. Why, it was as good as a circus this morning to watch and listen to my wife when her collar button rolled under the dresser."

It was this same good little wife of Bob's who made something of a mistake a while back.

They had a pretty maid at their house, and perhaps Bob, quite naturally, let his eyes follow her a few times in an absent-minded way.

Men frequently do that, you know—don't mean anything wrong at all, and just simply—well, look.

Of course his better half noticed it.

Now, she was no more jealous than the majority of her sex, but somehow she foolishly began to suspect that he was in the habit of kissing the girl in the kitchen and was determined to catch him in the act.

One Saturday night she saw him pass quietly into the kitchen.

The hired girl was out, and the kitchen dark.

The jealous wife took a few matches in her hand, and, hastily placing a shawl over her head, as the hired girl often did, entered the back door.

Immediately she was seized and kissed and embraced in an ardent manner.

With heart almost bursting, the wife prepared to administer a terrible rebuke to the faithless spouse.

Tearing herself away from his fond embrace, she struck a match and stood face to face with Patrick, the hired man.

My colored barber takes an affectionate interest in my personal appearance.

No doubt he knows how much depends on my presenting a handsome front while on the stage.

"Youh hair 'pears to be fallin' out, boss," he remarked, yesterday, while trimming my locks, "I reckons I kin save it.'"

"All right," I said, promptly, "save it if you want to. I've got no use for it."

Perhaps he makes sofa cushions for the trade.

"I hear your name was proposed as a member of the Bon Ton Colored Artists' Club. Did you get in?" I asked him later on.

"Not dat time, boss. You see, dey white-balled me,"