_Artist._ "Oh, I'll get the canvases at once, and----"

_Patron_ (_millionaire_). "Canvas! 'Ang it!--none o' yer canvas for me!

Price is no objec'! I can afford to pay for something better than canvas!!" [_Tableau!_]

[Ill.u.s.tration: GRATIFYING!--_Amateur Artist_ (_to the carrier_). "Did you see my picture safely delivered at the Royal Academy?"

_Carrier._ "Yessir, and mighty pleased they seemed to be with it--leastways, if one may jedge, sir. They didn't say nothin'--but--lor'

how they did laugh!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Artist_ (_who has recommended model to a friend_). "Have you been to sit to Mr. Jones yet?"

_Model._ "Well, I've been to see him; but directly I got into his studio, 'Why,' he said, 'you've got a head like a Botticelli.' I don't know what a Botticelli is, but I didn't go there to be called names, so I come away!"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Art Student_ (_engaging rooms_). "What is that?"

_Landlady._ "That is a picture of our church done in wool by my daughter, sir. She's subject to art, too."]

THE SUB-EDITOR'S AUNT

"I always buy your paper my dear Horace," said the old lady, "although there is much in it I cannot approve of. But there is one thing that puzzles me extremely."

"Yes, aunt?" said the Sub-Editor meekly, as he sipped his tea.

"Why, I notice that the contents bill invariably has one word calculated to stimulate the morbid curiosity of the reader. An adjective."

"Circulation depends upon adjectives," said the Sub-Editor.

"I don't think I object to them," the old lady replied; "but what I want you to tell me is how you choose them. How do you decide whether an occurrence is 'remarkable' or 'extraordinary,' 'astounding' or 'exciting,' 'thrilling' or 'alarming,' 'sensational' or merely 'strange,' 'startling' or 'unique'? What tells you which word to use?"

"Well, aunt, we have a system to indicate the adjective to a nicety; but----"

"My dear Horace, I will never breathe a word. You should know that. No one holds the secrets of the press more sacred than I."

The Sub-Editor settled himself more comfortably in his chair.

"You see, aunt, the great thing in an evening paper is human interest.

What we want to get is news to hit the man-in-the-street. Everything that we do is done for the man-in-the-street. And therefore we keep safely locked up in a little room a tame man of this description. He may not be much to look at, but his sympathies are right, unerringly right.

He sits there from nine till six, and has things to eat now and then. We call him the Thrillometer."

"How wonderful! How proud you should be Horace, to be a part of this mighty mechanism, the press."

"I am, aunt. Well, the duties of the Thrillometer are very simple.

Directly a piece of news comes in, it is the place of one of the Sub-Editors to hurry to the Thrillometer's room and read it to him. I have to do this."

"Poor boy. You are sadly overworked, I fear."

"Yes, aunt. And while I read I watch his face."

"Long study has told me exactly what degree of interest is excited within him by the announcement. I know instantly whether his expression means 'phenomenal' or only 'remarkable,' whether 'distressing' or only 'sad,'

whether----"

"Is there so much difference between 'distressing' and 'sad,' Horace?"

"Oh, yes, aunt. A suicide in Half Moon Street is 'distressing'; in the City Road it is only 'sad.' Again, a raid on a club in Whitechapel is of no account; but a raid on a West-End club is worth three lines of large type in the bill, above Fry's innings."

"Do you mean a club in Soho when you say West-End?"

"Yes, aunt, as a rule."

"But why do you call that the West-End?"

"That was the Thrillometer's doing, aunt. He fell asleep over a club raid, and a very good one too, when I said it was in Soho; but when I told him of the next--also in Soho, chiefly Italian waiters--and said it was in the West-End, his eyes nearly came out of his head. So you see how useful the Thrillometer can be."

"Most ingenious, Horace. Was this your idea?"

"Yes, aunt."

"Clever boy. And have the other papers adopted it?"

"Yes, aunt. All of them."

"Then you are growing rich, Horace?"

"No, no, aunt, not at all. Unfortunately I lack the business instinct.

Other people grow rich on my ideas. In fact, so far from being rich, I was going to venture to ask you----"

"Tell me more about the Thrillometer," said the old lady briskly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AT THE WRESTLING MATCH

_Enthusiastic Old Gent._ "Go on, sonny! Stick 'old of 's 'ead."]

GOING TO THE BAD

All the way from the National Gallery Unto the Royal Academy As I walked, I was guilty of raillery, Which I felt was very bad o' me.

Thinking of art's disasters, Still sinking to deeper abysses, I said, "From the Old Masters Why go to the new misses?"