ghost of a smile, it is likely, flickered across our faces. But
reproduced by the subtle humour of the artist, the inherent comedy
of the situation stands revealed, and we chuckle. And our enjoyment
is the greater for the skill with which the means are concealed
by which this magical transformation is effected. We feel that we
have discovered the comedy ourselves, not that it has been shown
to us. The characters are so perfectly natural, so precisely as we
know them and have seen them day after day. The secret lies in the
artist's power of restraint. He exaggerates, he caricatures,--he
must do so to bring his point home to our dull wits. But he does
it with such nicety that the exaggeration and the caricature are
unnoticed. Indeed, the terms are misleading. It is better to say
that he _emphasises_.

Frank Reynolds reminds me, if he will forgive my saying so, of a
certain profane 'bus-driver whom I have the privilege to number
amongst my acquaintance. With this close student of human nature
I have had the good fortune to enjoy frequent conversations, and
many are the gestures which I recall of the whip-hand towards the
pavement, accompanied by the remark (in effect), "Lumme, what funny
things a bloke _do_ see!" I confess freely that often I should
entirely miss, but for the observant jerk of the whip, the said
"funny thing"; and it is just that service which the friendly busman
renders to me, as it appears to my mind, that Frank Reynolds performs
for the community at large. It is precisely those commonplace "funny
things," whether they be persons, scenes, incidents, conversations,
or casual remarks, that happen under our very noses, which he excels
in depicting; and it is precisely the commonplace familiarity of
them that invests them with their peculiar flavour and charm.