Shortly after Raymond Hitchcock made his first big hit in New York,
Eddie Foy, who was also playing in town, happened to be passing Daly's
Theatre, and paused to look at the pictures of Hitchcock and his company
that adorned the entrance. Near the pictures was a billboard covered
with laudatory extracts from newspaper criticisms of the show.

When Foy had moodily read to the bottom of the list, he turned to an
unobtrusive young man who had been watching him out of the corner of his
eye.

"Say, have you seen this show?" he asked.

"Sure," replied the young man.

"Any good? How's this guy Hitchcock, anyhow?"

"Any good?" repeated the young man pityingly. "Why, say, he's the best
in the business. He's got all these other would-be side-ticklers lashed
to the mast. He's a scream. Never laughed so much at any one in all my
life."

"Is he as good as Foy?" ventured Foy hopefully.

"As good as Foy!" The young man's scorn was superb. "Why, this Hitchcock
has got that Foy person looking like a gloom. They're not in the same
class. Hitchcock's funny. A man with feelings can't compare them. I'm
sorry you asked me, I feel so strongly about it."

Eddie looked at him very sternly and then, in the hollow tones of a
tragedian, he said: