"
One of the millionaire class was next approached, and was asked what he
thought of millionaires reading Homer.
"Why not?" he asked. "Some millionaires are great readers. I am one
myself. There are not half-a-dozen of Oppenheim's I haven't read; and I
like Hall Caine--and Ethel Dell's not bad. Who is this Homer? If he's
any good I may as well order him."
"Well, Homer was a poet, you know, a--"
"I've no use for poetry," said the millionaire.
"A Greek poet, who lived--"
"Greek. A _Greek_, did you say?" A shrewd look came into his eyes. "Some
of the cutest devils I know are Greeks." He pulled down a shirt-cuff and
took a diamond-studded pencil from his waistcoat pocket. "How do you
spell it? With an H?"
* * * * *
"POULTRY AND EGGS.
Belfast or Neighbourhood.--Locum Tenency or Sunday duty wanted
by well-known Rector during holiday."--_Irish Paper._
It looks as if he had been mistaken for a Lay-reader.
* * * * *
"Nothing is left of the knave of the church, but the choir still
remains.
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