If it had happened on the stage it would have taken us the whole play to get out of it. Stage people are not allowed to put things right when mistakes are made with their identity. If the light comedian is expecting a plumber, the first man that comes into the drawing-room has got to be a plumber. He is not allowed to point out that he never was a plumber; that he doesn’t look like a plumber; that no one not an idiot would mistake him for a plumber. He has got to be shut up in the bath-room and have water poured over him, just as if he were a plumber—a stage plumber, that is. Not till right away at the end of the last act is he permitted to remark that he happens to be the new curate. I sat out a play once at which most people laughed. It made me sad. A dear old lady entered towards the end of the first act. We knew she was the aunt. Nobody can possibly mistake the stage aunt—except the people on the stage. They, of course, mistook her for a circus rider, and shut her up in a cupboard. It is what cupboards seem to be reserved for on the stage. Nothing is ever put in them excepting the hero’s relations. When she wasn’t in the cupboard she was in a clothes basket, or tied up in a curtain. All she need have done was to hold on to something while remarking to the hero: “If you’ll stop shouting and jumping about for just ten seconds, and give me a chance to observe that I am your maiden aunt from Devonshire, all this tomfoolery can be avoided.” That would have ended it. As a matter of fact that did end it five minutes past eleven. It hadn’t occurred to her to say it before. In real life I never knew but of one case where a man suffered in silence unpleasantness he could have ended with a word; and that was the case of the late Corney Grain. He had been engaged to give his entertainment at a country house. The lady was a _nouvelle riche_ of snobbish instincts. She left instructions that Corney Grain when he arrived was to dine with the servants. The butler, who knew better, apologised; but Corney was a man not easily disconcerted. He dined well, and after dinner rose and addressed the assembled company. “Well, now, my good friends,” said Corney, “if we have all finished, and if you are all agreeable, I shall be pleased to present to you my little show.” The servants cheered. The piano was dispensed with. Corney contrived to amuse his audience very well for half-an-hour without it. At ten o’clock came down a message: Would Mr. Corney Grain come up into the drawing-room. Corney went. The company in the drawing-room were waiting, seated. “We are ready, Mr. Grain,” remarked the hostess. “Ready for what?” demanded Corney. “For your entertainment,” answered the hostess. “But I have given it already,” explained Corney; “and my engagement was for one performance only.” “Given it! Where? When?” “An hour ago, downstairs.” “But this is nonsense,” exclaimed the hostess.