I have not been to the sandwich-place since. Detesting the sandwiches as I do, I find A. E. Barrett a good excuse for keeping away. For, upon the day after that when he came into my life, I had a sudden cold fear that the thing was a plant. How, in what way, I cannot imagine. That I am to be sold a _Guide to Cambridge_ at the next meeting; that an A. E. Barrett hair-restorer is about to be placed on the market; that an offer will be made to enlarge my photograph (or Barrett's) free of charge if I buy the frame--no, I cannot think what it can be. Yet, after all, why should it be a plant? We Barretts are not the sort of men to be mixed up with fraud. Impetuous the Barrett type may be, obstinate, jealous--so much you see in our features. But dishonest? Never! Still, as I did honestly detest those last eight sandwiches, I shall stay away. A BREATH OF LIFE This is the story of a comedy which nearly became a tragedy. In its way it is rather a pathetic story. The comedy was called _The Wooing of Winifred_. It was written by an author whose name I forget; produced by the well-known and (as his press-agent has often told us) popular actor-manager, Mr. Levinski; and played by (among others) that very charming young man, Prosper Vane--known locally as Alfred Briggs until he took to the stage. Prosper played the young hero, _Dick Seaton_, who was actually wooing _Winifred_. Mr. Levinski himself took the part of a middle-aged man of the world with a slight _embonpoint_; down in the programme as _Sir Geoffrey Throssell_ but fortunately still Mr. Levinski. His opening words, as he came on, were, "Ah, Dick, I have a note for you somewhere," which gave the audience an interval in which to welcome him, while he felt in all his pockets for the letter. One can bow quite easily while feeling in one's pockets, and it is much more natural than stopping in the middle of an important speech in order to acknowledge any cheers. The realization of this, by a dramatist, is what is called "stagecraft." In this case the audience could tell at once that the "technique" of the author (whose name unfortunately I forget) was going to be all right.