"Did I?" she replied.
"Most certainly."
"Yes," she continued, "but not with that comic expression."
"Of course not."
To return to the Polytechnic. I was regarded as the mild clown of the establishment, although I am bound to say that I thought some of the scientific and serious lectures far more humorous, unintentionally, than my work. On one occasion a lecturer was holding some explosive material in his hand, and said that its power was so great that, under certain conditions, it would blow up the whole of the Polytechnic Institution and the people in it. This announcement, delivered with much fervour, was rendered more alarming by the fact that the material was accidentally brought into contact with the spirit-lamp which stood on the table. The result was an insignificant "fizz," like a damp match.
During a discourse on the Franco-German war, the lecturer, explaining one of the views on the screen in which the French were defeated, gave vent to his own feelings in somewhat the following strain:
"Behold the cowards hewing down the poor French! That is not war—that is murder—miserable and uncalled-for murder!"
This strong sentiment called forth a hiss or two from some portions of the audience who happened to sympathise with the Germans. The lecturer held up his hands and said:
"Silence, my friends. Please remember that this is only a simple, unbiassed lecture, with pictorial illustrations of certain events which happened during this sad war. Do not let us show any personal feeling one way or the other."
There is little doubt that many of the lectures at the old Polytechnic were simply vehicles for introducing advertisements, just in the same way that, in the Pantomime Harlequinade, all the clown has to do is to bring on a box, which, on a touch from the wand of the harlequin, is turned into a magnified piece of popular soap, or a bottle of scent, with the name and address of the patentees printed in good-sized letters. The following specimen is only a slight exaggeration of what I mean: