“Well, let me have a look at it.” “Hi ain’t got it wiv me—yet. But I can give you a look hat it.” “How can you give me a look at it if you aren’t carrying it with you?” asked the puzzled American. “Turn your ’ead slow, Guv’ner,” said the Cockney, dropping his voice. “See that fat bloke yonder wiv the gray coat on?” He pointed a cautious finger and sank his voice still lower. “Hit’s in ’is necktie.” § 335 Fun for Little Isadore Mr. Pincus, the delicatessen dealer, was visiting Mr. Rabinowitz, the retailer in second-hand garments at the latter’s flat in Allen Street. To the host came his little son, Isadore, aged six. “Popper,” he asked, “vould you gif me a quarter?” “Shure,” said the parent. He hauled a coin from his pocket, dropped it with a generous gesture into the outstretched hand of his offspring and, as the child trotted away, made as if to resume his interrupted conversation with the caller. But Mr. Pincus, who had been observing the byplay with distended eyes was the first to speak: “Rabinowitz, have you gone crazy or something? Your boy asks you for a whole quarter und right avay you give it to him. What an extravagance!” “That’s right,” said Mr. Rabinowitz, with a proud smile. “Every night comes my little Isadore und asks me for a quarter, und alvays I gif it to him.” “But ain’t it teachin’ him bad habits, having all that money to spend on himself?” insisted Mr. Pincus. “Pincus,” said his friend, “I tell you a secret: he ain’t spendin’ it on himself; alvays he goes und puts it in his savings bank, only, it ain’t a savings bank—that’s what he thinks it is. It’s the gas meter.” § 336 An Awful Blow for Mr. Barnum The late Alf T. Ringling, of Ringling Brothers, loved the lore of the circus. In his library he had shelves of books and pictures and documents and ancient posters pertaining to life under the big tops. Also he knew hundreds of anecdotes, humorous and otherwise, modern and ancient, which related to some aspect or another of the business he all his active life had followed. A year or two before his death he told me this one, which he vouched for as having been an actual occurrence: It was back in the days before the Ringling Show had attained large proportions, when Barnum and Bailey’s circus was, as its billing proclaimed, The Greatest Show on Earth. The aggregation, with its menagerie, its three rings and its elevated stages and hippodrome track, and all, was touring the South. A day or two earlier, an acrobat who just had closed a season with a traveling burlesque troupe—by special request of its manager—applied for a job with the circus and was given it. His act did not give full satisfaction to the director of performances, who so reported to Mr. Barnum, and the latter sent for the new performer, and told him that his work fell short of the desired standard.