furnished Mr. D. with _his_ story for the play. He explained at great
length that he forgave me because I had not given Mr. Daly his real
name, and also remarked, in rather an aggrieved way, that _he_ had two
children and only one appeared in the play. He also seemed considerably
surprised that Mr. Harkins (who played my husband) did not wear a large
red beard, as every one, he said, knew _he_ had not shaved for years.

My laughter made its way over the transom, and in a moment my neighbour
was at the dressing-room door, asking for something she did not need,
that she might find out the why and wherefore of the fun; and when the
red beard had started her off, another came for something she knew I
didn't own, and she too fell before the beard; while a third writhed
over the forgiveness extended to me, and exclaimed:--

"Oh, the well-educated idiot, isn't he delicious?"

By and by the letter started to make a tour of the gentlemen's rooms,
and, unlike the rolling-stone that gathered no moss, it gathered
laughter as it moved.

It was only Mr. Daly who astonished me by not laughing. He, instead,
seemed quite gratified that his play had so clearly reflected a real
life story.

In the business world of New York there was known at that time a pair of
brothers; they were in dry-goods. The firm was new, and they were
naturally anxious to extend their trade. The buyer for a merchant in the
far Northwest had placed a small order with the brothers B., which had
proved so satisfactory that the merchant coming himself to New York the
next fall informed the brothers of his intention of dealing heavily with