Davenport, but Junius Brutus
Davenport is a combination with which I am not familiar."

"Well, I can't see why it should make any difference whether the man is a
tragedian, or a comedian, or a familiar figure to railroad men," said Mr.
Whitechoker, firmly. "In any event, he would be an extremely objec--"

"It makes a great deal of difference," said the Idiot. "I've met
tragedians, and I've met comedians, and I've met New York Central stars,
and I can assure you they each represent a distinct type. The tragedians,
as a rule, are quiet meek individuals, with soft low voices, in private
life. They are more timid than otherwise, though essentially amiable.
I knew a tragedian once who, after killing seventeen Indians, a
road-agent, and a gross of cowboys between eight and ten P.M.
every night for sixteen weeks, working six nights a week, was afraid of a
mild little soft-shell crab that lay defenceless on a plate before him on
the evening of the seventh night of the last week. Tragedians make
agreeable companions, I can tell you; and if J. Brutus Davenport is a
tragedian, I think Mrs. Pedagog would do well to let him have the suite,
provided, of course, that he pays for it in advance."

"I was about to observe, when our friend interrupted me," said Mr.
Whitechoker, with dignity, "that in any event an actor at this board
would be to me an extremely objec--"

"Now the comedians," resumed the Idiot, ignoring Mr. Whitechoker's
remark--"the comedians are very different. They are twice as bloodthirsty
as the murderers of the drama, and, worse than that, they are given to
rehearsing at all hours of the day and night. A tragedian is a hard
character only on the stage, but the comedian is the comedian always.
If we had one of those fellows in our midst, it would not be very long
before we became part of the drama ourselves. Mrs. Pedagog would find
herself embarrassed once an hour, instead of, as at present, once a
century. Mr. Whitechoker would hear of himself as having appeared by
proxy in a roaring farce before our comedian had been with us two months.
The wise sayings of our friend the School-Master would be spoken nightly
from the stage, to the immense delight of the gallery gods, and to the
edification of the orchestra circle, who would wonder how so much
information could have got into the world and they not know it before.
The out-of-town papers would literally teem with witty extracts from our
comedian's plays, which we sh