I told the whole story to a friend, and he supplied me with a variant from a lower stratum of society. A Lancashire man went with a friend into a tailor’s shop to buy a coat. One was produced, and the purchaser asked the friend for his opinion. “Seems a bit short, don’t it?” said the friend. “Ah, lad, but it’ll be long enough before I get another.” Three minutes later a third man found the friend in the street, still convulsed with laughter. “Why, what’s to do?” he asked. The friend wiped his eyes and took breath: “Eh, it were Jack Robinson: he’s a funny feller. Ah went with him into yon shop, because he wanted an overcoat, d’ye see? And they brought him out one, and he tries it on and he says to me: ‘How does it look, Bill?’ he says. ‘Seems a bit short, don’t it?’ says I. ‘Well,’ he says, ‘it ’ull be a pretty time afore I get another.’” And the friend was again convulsed. But the third man was indignant: “Why, whativer was theer to laugh at?” The friend “rubbed an elongated forehead with a meditative cuff”: “Ah reckon ah’ve got it a bit mixed,” he admitted, “but we laughed a good ’un at th’ toime.” A third case may be quoted: Twenty or more years ago there was an inquest that caused much excitement. A man--let us call him Miller--died suddenly. There was a post-mortem examination, and distinct traces of antimony were found. The public demanded vengeance, but soon cooled down, when it was disclosed at the enquiry that the deceased, whether by making or by saving money, had hasted to become rich. There was a luncheon party at the Canon’s house in Norceter, and the _affaire_ Miller was discussed. Among the guests was old Sir John Surd, who, being very deaf, was allowed to have Lady Surd sitting next him. The Canon, a well-known humorist, gave novelty to the topic by remarking how singular it was that a man who was so fond of money should have died of anti-mony. There was laughter, and Sir John turned to his wife and privately asked for the joke. “Oh, John,” shouted her Ladyship, “such a funny thing the Canon has said. Mr. Miller, you know, John, Miller--the Inquest?” “Yes, yes.” (All conversation ceased: all eyes were turned on the narrator, who became flurried.) “Mr. Miller, you know. Well, the Canon said how funny it was that--er--Mr. Miller who--er--was so fond of money, MONEY, you know?” “Yes, yes,” impatiently. (The guests begin to smile, and Lady Surd loses her head and plunges.) “So fond of money, should have er--er--DIED OF TARTAR EMETIC!” Now if these imperfect historians had been trained in Standard V. I should have lost three stories.