Here we must part with the foolish ambition to deal in small talk. The surest way for us to become social nuisances is constantly to demand the details of current conversation, and some of our worst embarrassments come when some well-meaning, loud-voiced person diligently relays to us the trivial remarks. For be it known that the bubbles of words which work up from the feeble fermenting of shallow thoughts are usually stale and unprofitable. And many a deaf person has passed an hour of agony in company smiling and pretending to enjoy conversation which might as well be carried on in Europe, as far as his understanding goes. A student of lip-reading can find much amusing practice in such situations, but it is far better for the rest of us to say frankly that we cannot hear the talk, and then retire from the field with a book. Every deaf person who possesses even a trace of humor can tell how he or she has passed as an important personage by looking wise and saying nothing. On several occasions I have played the part of intelligent critic with some success. I can sit on the front seat at a lecture or a concert, look intently at the speaker or singer, smile and frown at the right places in the program, and make an effort to look wise. The performer soon comes to think that he has at least one very keen and appreciative listener, and soon he aims the best points at me. Of course, we all know how the heart and spirit glow in the face of evident appreciation. I do not hear a sound, but I present the appearance of the mighty rock in the weary land of inattentive listeners. I have even had the susceptible artist hunt me out afterwards, evidently seeking some delicate compliment—for who is proof against such desires? However, I keep out of the way, for it would never do for him to find that the appreciative hearer is a deaf man. A friend of mine, working on the same principle of passing encouragement around, keeps an eye open for deaf men or those who seem discouraged, and when he meets some one who seems to be losing his grip, he gives a military salute. When his children criticise such a performance, he says: “Why not? It makes him feel good. It inoculates his pride. He goes on his way thinking that perhaps after all he may be somebody, since that ‘distinguished-looking man’ recognized him!” There is a sorry old joke that I have played repeatedly on vain or inquisitive people. I worked it off on my friend, Brown, three times running. Brown is the type of fellow who is much in love with his own voice. They tell me that he can deliver a fair speech, but that he spoils the effect by making it quite evident that he is casting pearls, and that lack of proper appreciation classes the audience with a well-known suggestion of the New Testament. I have never heard Brown’s words, but his actions speak loudly to a deaf man. So I wait until he begins to describe some oratorical triumph and then start on him.