Lois smothered a giggle and turned to Polly—They were all sitting in the front row. “Two hours of that; O dear.”
Polly was occupied in watching Mr. Hale, very closely. She only said: “Oh, cheer up,” and kept on watching.
“Good evening, young ladies. I—er—have the pleasure to address you this evening on New England and its historical past—” The professor was already stumbling on his way. After his opening remark he coughed, shifted his feet, and consulted a card that he held in the palm of one hand. “First picture, please,” he said rather abruptly.
The lights were turned out promptly, and the girls settled down with a sigh of resignation.
They waited, no picture came; the white curtain waved ghost-like in the dark. The younger
girls began to giggle nervously and then some one turned on the light. Mrs. Baird went to the back of the room.
“What’s the matter, Pat, is there something wrong with the lantern?”
Pat scratched his head in solemn wonder. “Sure, there should be nothing wrong with it,” he said.
“Perhaps the trouble is at the power house,” Mrs. Baird suggested. “You better go as quickly as possible and find out. And in the meantime,” she continued, returning to the platform, “perhaps Professor Hale will talk to us.”
But Professor Hale would not, could not. He had just his lecture, all learned by heart. A picture slipped in at the wrong time would have seriously upset him. He fled from the very idea of attempting to talk against time to this room full of fluttering beribboned young ladies. He refused point-blank—