ld musical act, "Wood & Shepard," has grown quite
deaf, and he tells many funny stories at his own expense. Upon one
occasion he came into the Orpheum Theater at San Francisco and met Jim
McIntire, of McIntire & Heath.

"Hello, Jim," said Woodie.

"Hello, Woodie," said Jim; "how are you feeling?"

"Half past ten last night," said Woodie.

* * * * *

Woodie was playing at Pastor's Theater in New York. He was living on
Thirty-eighth Street. One night about two o'clock in the morning he got
on to a Third Avenue elevated train to go home. The only other passenger
in the car was a drunk, asleep in the corner. At Twenty-third Street
Charlie Seamon, "the Narrow Feller," got on.

"Where are you living?" asked Seamon.

"Thirty-eighth Street," said Woodie; "where are you living?"

"Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street," said Seamon.

"Where?"

"_Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street_," said Seamon, louder.

"Can't hear you," said Woodie.

"_One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street_," howled Seamon.

"Gee Whiz," yelled the drunk, as he scrambled to his feet, and made for
the door, "I've gone by my station," and off he got at Twenty-eighth
Street.

* * * * *

Woodie was practicing on his cornet in the San Francisco Orpheum. The
management sent back word that they could hear him way out in front;
Woodie laid down the cornet, thought a moment, sighed, and said,

"Well, perhaps I can't play very good any more, but I must play loud."

[Illustration: The Cressys in Ireland.]

A CORK MAN

We were going out to visit Blarney Castle. Not that I felt any
particular need of kissing the Blarney Stone myself, for I had managed
to talk my way through life so far without so doing, and saw no reason
to doubt my ability to do so in the future, providing the United Booking
Offices would continue to book us. But of course when you go all the way
from New Hampshire to Ireland you just sort of have to see all these
things. And then, of course, it would sound kind of cute to say, "Oh,
yes; I kissed the Blarney Stone." And I still think it would sound
cute; only I am not saying it. For when I took one look at that dinky
little piece of rock stuck in the side of a wall one hundred and twenty
feet above terra firma, and looked at the hole I was supposed to hang
down through to get at it, I said to myself--"_Not guilty._" So any
Lady-Manager or Booking Agent can still converse wit