I began to realize the treat that was in store for me that night.
I tried another little joke, and—missed fire.
“Never mind, old fellow,” I said to myself; “it’s two hundred and fifty dollars; go ahead.”
And I went on.
I saw a few people smile, but not one laughed, although I noticed that a good many were holding their handkerchiefs over their mouths, probably to stifle any attempt at such a frivolous thing as laughter. The eyes of the audience, which I always watch, showed signs of interest, and nobody left the hall until the conclusion of the lecture. When I had finished, I made a small bow, when certainly fifty people applauded. I imagined they were glad it was all over.
“Well,” I said to the manager, when I had returned to the little back room, “I suppose we must call this a failure.”
“A failure!” said he; “it’s nothing of the sort. Why, I have never seen them so enthusiastic in my life!”
I went to the hotel, and tried to forget the audience I had just had by recalling to my mind a joyous evening in Scotland. This happened about a year ago, in a mining town in the neighborhood of Glasgow, where I had been invited to lecture, on a Saturday night, to the members of a popular—very popular—Institute.
I AM ESCORTED TO THE HALL.