After my experience to-day, I think I will
engrave my name on my umbrella. But not on that baggy thing standing in the
corner. I do not care who relieves me of that. It is anybody's for the
taking.
ON TALKING TO ONE'S SELF
I was at dinner at a well-known restaurant the other evening when I became
aware that some one sitting alone at a table near by was engaged in an
exciting conversation with himself. As he bent over his plate his face was
contorted with emotion, apparently intense anger, and he talked with
furious energy, only pausing briefly in the intervals of actual
mastication. Many glances were turned covertly upon him, but he seemed
wholly unconscious of them, and, so far as I could judge, he was unaware
that he was doing anything abnormal. In repose his face was that of an
ordinary business man, sane and self-controlled, and when he rose to go his
agitation was over, and he looked like a man who had won his point.
It is probable that this habit of talking to one's self has a less sinister
meaning than it superficially suggests.
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