Theodore Dreiser, the novelist, was talking about criticism.

“I like pointed criticism,” he said, “criticism such as I heard in the lobby of a theater the other night at the end of the play.”

“The critic was an old gentleman. His criticism, which was for his wife’s ears alone, consisted of these words:

“‘Well, you would come!’”

Nat Goodwin, the American comedian, when at the Shaftesbury Theatre, London, told of an experience he once had with a juvenile deadhead in a town in America. Standing outside the theater a little time before the performance was due to begin he observed a small boy with an anxious, forlorn look on his face and a weedy-looking pup in his arms.

Goodwin inquired what was the matter, and was told that the boy wished to sell the dog so as to raise the price of a seat in the gallery. The actor suspected at once a dodge to secure a pass on the “sympathy racket,” but allowing himself to be taken in he

gave the boy a pass. The dog was deposited in a safe place and the boy was able to watch Goodwin as the Gilded Fool from a good seat in the gallery. Next day Goodwin saw the boy again near the theater, so he asked:

“Well, sonny, how did you like the show?”

“I’m glad I didn’t sell my dog,” was the reply.