iscussing the manifold
perfections of the late Lord Leighton, president of the Royal Academy.

"Exquisite musician--played the violin like a professional," said one.

"One of the best-dressed men in London," said another.

"Danced divinely," remarked the third.

"Ever read his essays?" asked a fourth. "In my opinion they're the
best of the kind ever written."

Whistler, who had remained silent, tapped the last speaker on the
shoulder.

"Painted, too, didn't he?" he said.

* * * * *

A patron of art asked Whistler to tell him where a friend lived on a
certain street in London, to which the artist replied:

"I can't tell you, but I know how you can find it. Just you ring up
houses until you come across a caretaker who talks in B flat, and
there you are."

* * * * *

A friend of Whistler's saw him on the street in London a few years ago
talking to a very ragged little newsboy. As he approached to speak to
the artist he noticed that the boy was as dirty a specimen of the
London "newsy" as he had ever encountered--he seemed smeared all
over--literally covered with dirt.

Whistler had just asked him a question, and the boy answered:

"Yes, sir; I've been selling papers three years."

"How old are you?" inquired Whistler.

"Seven, sir."

"Oh, you must be more than that."

"No, sir, I ain't."

Then, turning to his friend, who had overheard the conversation,
Whistler said: "I don't think he could get that dirty in seven years;
do you?"

* * * * *

Benrimo, the dramatist, who wrote "The Yellow Jacket," relates that
when he was a young writer, fresh from the breezy atmosphere of San
Francisco, he visited London. Coming out of the Burlington Gallery one
day, he saw a little man mincing toward him, carrying a cane held
before him as he walked, whom he recognized as Whistler. With Western
audacity he stopped the pedestrian, introduced himself, and broke into
an elaborate outburst of acclamation for the works of the master, who
"ate it up," as the saying goes.

Waving his wand gently toward the famous gallery, Whistler queried:

"Been in there?"

"Oh, yes."

"See anything worth while?"

"Some splendid things, magnificent examples--"

"I'm sorry you ever approved of me," observed the master,
majestically, and on he went, leaving Benrimo withered under his
disdain.

* * * * *