We followed.

He was waving his notebook above his head, and clamouring, after the manner of people in French exercises, for pens, ink, and paper.
"'What's up ?' cried the Sub-editor, catching his enthusiasm; 'influenza again ?' "'Better than that!' shouted Todhunter.

'Excursion steamer run down, a hundred and twenty-five lives lost--four good columns of heartrending scenes.' "'By Jove!' said the Sub, 'couldn't have happened at a better time either'-- and then he sat down and dashed off a leaderette, in which he dwelt upon the pain and regret the paper felt at having to announce the disaster, and drew attention to the exceptionally harrowing account provided by the energy and talent of 'our special reporter.'" "It is the law of nature," said Jephson: "we are not the first party of young philosophers who have been struck with the fact that one man's misfortune is another man's opportunity." "Occasionally, another woman's," I observed.
I was thinking of an incident told me by a nurse.

If a nurse in fair practice does not know more about human nature--does not see clearer into the souls of men and women than all the novelists in little Bookland put together--it must be because she is physically blind and deaf.

All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players; so long as we are in good health, we play our parts out bravely to the end, acting them, on the whole, artistically and with strenuousness, even to the extent of sometimes fancying ourselves the people we are pretending to be.