A Broadway actor got carried away by the spirit of the prohibition times and remained carried away for several days. He came to himself in his own room without knowing exactly how he got there. A friend sat beside him. “Hello,” he said, as he opened his eyes, “what day is this?” “This,” said his friend, “is Thursday.” The invalid thought it over a minute. “What became of Wednesday?” he asked. § 179 The Cockney and the Lady Mrs. Pat Campbell has rather a caustic wit, as her friends—and more especially her enemies—can testify. On one occasion an interview with her was besought by a London playwright for whom personally Mrs. Campbell did not care very deeply. The playwright was a self-educated cockney. Sometimes in moments of forgetfulness he lapsed into the idioms of his youth. He desired an opportunity to tender Mrs. Campbell a play he had just completed and in which he hoped she might consent to take the star rôle. She sat in silence while he read the script, act by act. When he had finished he looked up, expecting some word of approval or at least of comment from his auditor. Mrs. Campbell, with a noncommital look on her face, said nothing at all. An awkward pause ensued. “Ahem,” said the dramatist at length, “I’m afraid my play seemed rather long to you?” “Long? Well, rather!” drawled the lady. “It took you over two hours to read it—without the h’s.” § 180 Neither Here Nor There Two French Canadians were traveling down a Quebec river in a houseboat. One of them knew the river and the other did not. They anchored for the night on a bar. During the night the river rose and along toward daylight the craft went adrift. Three hours later the motion awoke one of the travelers. He poked his head out of the door. An entirely strange section of scenery was passing. “Baptiste! Baptiste!” he yelled. “Get up! We ain’t here some more.” “No, by gar!” said his companion after a quick glance at the surroundings—“we are twelve mile from here!” § 181 One of the Marvels of Science On a hotel porch at a summer resort a visitor approached, in the dark, the spot where a beautiful young thing with bobbed hair and melting baby-blue eyes was sitting with an adoring youth. As he neared the pair the newcomer heard her say: “Aren’t the stars just beautiful to-night? I love to sit and look at the stars on a night like this and think about science. Science is so interesting, so wonderful; don’t you think so? Now you take astronomy: Astronomers are such marvelous men! I can understand how they have been able to figure out the distance to the moon and to all the other planets, and the size of the sun, and how fast it travels and all. But how in the world do you suppose they ever found out the right names of all those stars?” § 182 The Proper End of a Caddy