and study to gain what success I have, and win such fame as is now
mine!"

"Oh, yes," replied the young woman calmly; "but then I have talent."


Orlando Day, a fourth-rate actor in London, was once called, in a sudden
emergency, to supply the place of Allen Ainsworth at the Criterion
Theatre for a single night.

The call filled him with joy. Here was a chance to show the public how
great a histrionic genius had remained unknown for lack of an
opportunity. But his joy was suddenly dampened by the dreadful thought
that, as the play was already in the midst of its run, none of the
dramatic critics might be there to watch his triumph.

A bright thought struck him. He would announce the event. Rushing to a
telegraph office, he sent to one of the leading critics the following
telegram: "Orlando Day presents Allen Ainsworth's part to-night at the
Criterion."

Then it occurred to him, "Why not tell them all?" So he repeated the
message to a dozen or more important persons.

At a late hour of the same day, in the Garrick Club, a lounging
gentleman produced one of the telegrams, and read it to a group of
friends. A chorus of exclamations followed the reading: "Why, I got
precisely the same message!" "And so did I." "And I, too." "Who is
Orlando Day?" "What beastly cheek!" "Did the ass fancy that one would
pay any attention to his wire?"