For the opening performance the house was no more than two thirds filled, and the audience, for some reason or other, seemed rather unresponsive. The leading lady was not in a particularly happy frame of mind as she sat in her dressing-room after the final curtain, removing her make-up. Next door several members of the chorus were shifting to street dress. There came a knock at the star’s door. “Who is it and what do you want?” she demanded sharply. “It’s the house manager, Miss ——,” came the answer. “There’s a lady out front who’d like very much to see you.” “I’m not receiving visitors to-night,” said Miss —— rather acidly. “Who is this lady?” “She tells me that she thinks you’ll be glad to see her. She says that she was a chum of yours when you were at high school. Shall I show her in?” Over the dividing wall came floating the voice of a catty chorus-lady: “Wheel her in!” § 152 Probably Stewed Kidneys Ran Third Back in the days when crowned heads were more numerous in Europe—and more popular—than at present, Carlos of Portugal paid his first visit to the British Isles. At the conclusion of his trip King Edward, so it is said, asked young Carlos what, of all things in England, he liked best. Now, Portugal’s king was by way of being a consistent and sincere trencherman. He thought for a moment and made answer: “The roast beef,” he said. “Is that all that has impressed you?” inquired His Majesty of England. “Well,” replied Carlos, “the boiled beef is not so bad.” § 153 Pretty Pol! It will be recalled that it was necessary for the Wright brothers to go abroad in order to secure proper recognition for their first aeronautic inventions. The French government welcomed them and gave them proper opportunity to demonstrate what they had done; but as a group, the French aeronauts were disposed to show jealousy for the two Yankees. Following the successful proof by the Wrights of their ability actually to fly and, what was more important, to guide their machine along a given course, a banquet at Paris was arranged in their honor. Naturally, there was a deal of speech-making. The chief orator was a distinguished Frenchman who devoted most of his remarks to claiming that France had led the world in the new field of endeavor—or so he insisted—and to proclaiming that future developments ever would find Frenchmen at the forefront. Curiously enough, he had very little to say in compliment of the two chief guests of honor. Wilbur Wright was next called upon by the toastmaster. Slowly he rose to his feet.