"And that is the song," commented Van Bibber, "that gets six encores and
three calls every night on Broadway!"

Grahame West affected to be greatly chagrined at his wife's failure to
charm the chambermaids and porters with her little love-song, and when
his turn came, he left them with alacrity, assuring them that they would
now see the difference, as he would sing a song better suited to their
level.

But the song that had charmed London and captured the unprotected coast
town of New York, fell on heedless ears; and except the evil ones in the
gallery, no one laughed and no one listened, and Lester declared with
tears in his eyes that he would not go through such an ordeal for the
receipts of an Actors' Fund Benefit.

Van Bibber's partner caught him laughing at Grahame West's vain efforts
to amuse, and said, tolerantly, that Mr. West was certainly comical, but
that she had a lady friend with her who could recite pieces which were
that comic that you'd die of laughing. She presented her friend to Van
Bibber, and he said he hoped that they were going to hear her recite, as
laughing must be a pleasant death. But the young lady explained that she
had had the misfortune to lose her only brother that summer, and that
she had given up everything but dancing in consequence. She said she did
not think it looked right to see a girl in mourning recite comic
monologues.

Van Bibber struggled to be sympathetic, and asked what her brother had
died of? She told him that "he died of a Thursday," and the conversation
came to an embarrassing pause.