I have been in the State of Maine for two days; a strange State to be in, let me tell you.
After addressing the Connecticut audience in Meriden a few days ago, I thought I had had the experience of the most frigid audience that could possibly be gathered together. Last Tuesday night, at Portsea, I was undeceived.
Half-way between St. Johnsbury and Portsea, the day before yesterday, I was told that the train would be very late, and would not arrive at Portsea before half-past eight. My lecture in that city was to begin at eight. The only thing to do was to send a telegram to the manager of the lecture. At the next station I sent the following:
“Train late. If possible, keep audience waiting half an hour. Will dress on board.”
I dressed in the state-room of the parlor-car. At forty minutes past eight the train arrived at Portsea. I immediately jumped into a cab and drove to the City Hall, where the lecture was to take place. The building was lighted, but, as I ascended the stairs, there was not a person to be seen or a sound to be heard. “The place is deserted,” I thought; “and if anybody came to hear me, they have all gone.”
I opened the door of the private room behind the platform and there found the manager, who expressed his delight to see me. I excused myself, and was going to enter into a detailed explanation when he interrupted:
| I TIP-TOED OUT. |
“Oh, that’s all right.”
“What do you mean?” said I. “Have you got an audience there, on the other side of that door?”
“Why, we have got fifteen hundred people.”