“To-night we have with us a man whose name is known wherever the English language is spoken; a man whose erudite works are upon every shelf, a man who has reflected lustre upon the language spoken by Chaucer and Spenser—”
(I have never written anything under the name of Philip Vernon, so that my hearers were so far entirely in the dark as to my identity.)
“Mr. Vernon is a frequent contributor to the Antarctic Magazine, and those of us who feel that the month has not been well spent until we have absorbed its contents know Mr. Vernon’s work as we know our Bibles.
“We have been told by a celebrated philosopher that a little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men, and there is a great deal of truth in the remark. I am not above smiling at a joke myself; no one can afford to be so engrossed with the affairs of the world as never to permit a jocose remark to pass his lips.
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, and so Mr. Vernon is going to unbend to-night, and will make you shriek with laughter by his card tricks.”
Here he was interrupted by the Rev. Mr. Hughson, who said in a loud whisper, “No, he is going to recite.”
I was boiling. If I had been Mark Twain himself, such an introduction would have made whatever followed in the nature of an anti-climax. As I was to the audience simply an unknown “Mr. Vernon,” it was little less than cruelty to animals.
“Oh, surely. I am sure we are all prepared to laugh heartily at the witticisms and comical actions of Mr. Philip Vernon, the great author whom I now take pleasure in introducing to you.”
Ethel was well in the back of the room. She hates to hear me recite, as she is always afraid that I will go to pieces, a fear that I have often told her was groundless, as whatever else may happen, I always keep control of myself, but this evening the malapropos idiocies of the asinine gentleman on the platform upset me so that I hardly knew what I was doing when I stumbled up alongside of him.
I had chosen a poem that is not humourous in itself, but by means of perverting its written meanings and by the use of uncouth gestures the thing has served to create amusement among my friends and (when I am feeling in the mood for it) even among my enemies. But to-night I was not feeling humourous; only angry.