“There’s no more gas!” he replied in hollow tones.
I will not repeat what I said when the lights were turned up, but it was in the nature of condolence with the audience, and indignation that for the sake of sixpennyworth of gas the lecture should have been spoiled. For that was what it amounted to. The lanternist had brought a partially emptied cylinder with him, the gauge of which indicated barely enough gas for an hour’s work. A little waste for practice reduced that, so that three-quarters of an hour finished it, and we all had the mortification of being deprived of the sight of a dozen pictures, and of feeling that we had been defrauded by an unfinished lecture.
What would otherwise have been a very awkward business was put right by the promptitude and ability of a friend of mine, Mr. Charles Hoddle, who was among the audience, being my host for the night, and having motored me over. It was at a chapel, and after the usual preliminaries the lights were turned down, and—the first picture did not appear. In answer to a confused murmur from the gallery where the lantern was, I made some cheerful joking remark to the audience, and went on with the lecture. Three times I stopped and ventured an enquiry if the picture would appear now, and at last, feeling that if my patience wasn’t exhausted, that of the audience was, I said:
“I wish you would let me know whether we are going to have any pictures or not, because, if not, we’ll have the lights turned up.”
A voice, with tears in it, feebly exclaimed in the gloom:
“I’m very sorry, sir, I can’t get it to go anyhow. I’ve tried my very best, but I——”
A great roar of laughter extinguished his voice, and I was just about to ask my friend Hoddle if he could help us, when I saw him stealing away from his seat in the gloom. In less than three minutes the picture appeared, and there was no further trouble. Mr. Hoddle did tell me what the trouble was, but I have forgotten, and it doesn’t matter, anyhow. But I was never more grateful for the presence and help of a man with presence of mind and who knew the business thoroughly.
What might have been a terrific disaster occasioned by the inexperience of a lanternist was only just averted by a hair’s-breadth at one of my lectures in Sydney, N.S.W. It was at the Lyceum Theatre, in Pitt Street, a fine house, but very badly off for exits. In fact, the whole of the great gallery, by far the largest part of the house, emptied through the one door down a steep flight of steps into the very busy but narrow thoroughfare of Pitt Street. It was an electric lantern, a form of lighting for this purpose that I detest unless there are certain arrangements made for keeping the slides cool. This is easily done, as witness the safe and easy handling of cinematograph films, which used to be highly inflammable, and yet very rarely ignited, as they certainly would have done with an unadapted electric lantern.
It was the opening night of my season in Sydney, and the lanternist was engaged from one of the best houses in the place, so that I had a right to expect the best manipulation. Especially when the price paid was considered. As soon as I began my lecture however, I saw that something was wrong. As each slide came on it cracked, peeled, and was destroyed, the sight of the process going on on the screen being a most disquieting one for me. Still, I did not see what I could do without alarming the audience and spoiling the show, so I saw six or seven slides burn up one after another. Then I was just about to protest in vigorous language against such wholesale destruction as I had never seen before, when I noticed that the lanternist was in dire trouble. Dense smoke was beginning to rise from the lantern, and even as I looked the smoke burst into flame. People rose in their seats, and looked with great anxiety towards the lantern and the door. There was a general uneasy stir when the electrician, bless him, turned the lights up, and I, raising my voice, said:
“Don’t mind the lanternist, friends, he’s in a bit of trouble. It’s all right, if you’ll just sit quietly, and take no notice of him. I’ll go on with the lecture, we can manage for a while without the pictures.” And so we did; in fact we had to do without them pretty much altogether for the rest of the evening, for that lantern was fairly used up. But I am thankful to say that nothing worse occurred, and the lecture closed in peace. After it was over, however, I told my agent that something must be done about that lantern. I would not face the possibility of another mishap of the same kind for all the expected receipts of the tour. Besides, I could not afford to lose the slides, as I only had one set of duplicates, and I carried no negatives.