in passing, "I remove my hat to any actor who can hire the Ambassador from the United States to the Court of St. James to three-sheet him."
Another time I attended a farewell dinner in San Francisco given by the Bohemian Club to Joseph Redding, a brilliant California lawyer and a rarely fine amateur musician. Redding told me privately that he was moving to New York to run away from his musical reputation.
"Every lawyer in California admits that I am a great musician, and the musicians agree that I am a first-class lawyer," he said. "In New York I hope to be a lawyer among lawyers."
As a guest I was called upon, and that call—you have guessed it—was for "Casey at the Bat." As I stood up, one hand on the piano, about to launch forth, a voice from the rear interrupted. A stranger to me asked my pardon for the intrusion, but pleaded that he was a transbay commuter who must leave shortly to catch the last train for the night. The gentleman spoke of his early association with Joseph H. Choate.
"A good many years ago," he went on, "Choate said to me one day, 'Bill, I want you to meet the most charming young couple I
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