During a recent Boston engagement Miss Eva Tanguay had occasion to meet at the house of a mutual friend a certain professor who holds a chair at Harvard. Miss Eva, who is somewhat of a wag, [a person prone to mischievous humor] and who might be called in the vernacular of the green room a “kidder,” told the professor of a wonderful gold fish which she had removed from its acquarium every day, each time increasing its atmospheric sojourn in such a gradual scale that at length the subject was trained to live in the air altogether.
    The professor of science looked perplexed. “The carassius auratus,” said he thoughtfully, “living out of water! Why, my dear Miss Tanguay, that is impossible, because—”
    “Now, professor,” interrupted the mischievious Eva, in all seriousness, “If I should bring the dear little fellow over to your laboratory in Cambridge would you believe It then?” The scientist laughed, and, of course, accepted the challenge.
    A short time after this conversation Miss Tanguay and the professor came face to face on Tremont street. “How about that aerial goldfish story?” asked the scholar, with a chuckle, confident that the other was cornered.
    “Oh, professor,” lamented the artful Tanguay. There was pathos in her voice, but her eyes sparkled with merriment. “A most sad end,” she sobbed, “has come to my little fish. I was crossing the Charles river on my way to your laboratory when the goldfish fell from my bag into the water and was drowned!”

From— The Washington Times. (Washington [D.C.]), 02 Dec. 1906. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.