Part 17 (1/2)
”Well, would you mind telling me where they are?” I queried.
”That is the High School Auditorium up there,” he said, pointing to the Egyptian darkness I had just left. ”The other is three squares down, where you see all those electric lights.”
Whether I thanked the gentleman or not I do not know. I hope I did; but in the hurry of my departure I fear I seemed discourteous. Another speedy dash, which left me completely winded, brought me to the other Auditorium, and there in the full glare of an electric spotlight, a.s.sisted in its quest of publicity by a hoa.r.s.e-tongued barker with a megaphone, I was confronted by a highly colored lithograph, showing a very pink Mabel, Queen of the Movies, standing before a very blue American soldier tied to a tree, s.h.i.+elding him from the bullets of a line of very green Mexicans, under the command of a very red villain, holding a very mauve sword in his very yellow hand, and bidding them to ”Fire!” If I was expected to take any part in the thrilling episode that appeared to be going on inside, there was nothing in the chromatic advertising outside to indicate the fact; though I confess I was becoming painfully conscious of certain strong resemblances between my very breathless self and that very blue American trooper tied to the tree.
”Excuse me,” said I, addressing the barker, ”but is there to be a lecture here to-night?”
”Not so's anybody'd notice it,” said he. ”These is the movies.”
”Well--tell me--is there a lecture course of any kind in this town that you know of?” I asked.
”Sure!” said he. ”Miss So-and-So down at the library is runnin' a lecture stunt of some kind this year. You'll find the library on Main Street, opposite the hotel.”
Again, late as it was, the skies cleared, and I moved on to the library, completing the circuit of vast numbers of blocks to a point almost opposite the spot I had started from fifteen lifelong minutes before. I arrived in a state of active perspiration and suspended respiration that did not seem to promise much in the way of a successful delivery of my lecture that night. I hoped the Library Auditorium would not prove to be a large one; for in my disorganized condition I did not feel capable of projecting my voice even into the shallows, to say nothing of the sometimes unfathomable depths of endless tiers of seats. And my hope was realized; in fact it was more than realized, for there wasn't any Library Auditorium at all.
The citizens of that town had a library that was devoted rather to good literature than to architectural splendor. Their books were housed in an ordinary shop, or store. It was deep, narrow, and bookishly cozy, and at the far end of it, seated at a generously large table, engaged in knitting, was a charming lady who glanced up from her needles as I approached.
”Pardon my intrusion, madam,” I panted, ”but can you tell me where I can find Miss So-and-So?”
”I am Miss So-and-So,” she replied graciously.
”Well,” said I, ”I am Mr. Bangs.”
Her knitting fell to the floor. ”Why--Mr. Bangs!” she replied, with a gasp almost equal to my own. ”I am very glad indeed to see you; but what are you doing here?”
”I--I've come to lecture,” I said weakly, almost pleadingly.
”To lecture?” she echoed. ”_Why, your lecture is not to be until a week from to-night!_”
”Then I am afraid we shall have to get my astral body to work,” said I; ”for a week from to-night I shall be at Hiawatha, Kansas. How do you propose to have the lecture delivered--by long distance telephone, or parcels post?”
We gazed into each other's eyes for a moment, and then--we both laughed.
It seemed the only thing to do.
Gallantry forbids my saying which of us had made the mistake under the terms of the written contract. Suffice it to say that two months later I returned to that good little town, and was received like a conquering hero by an audience that in its cordiality more than compensated me for the distressing effects of an ”unlectured lecture.”
What promised to be a more serious complication occurred about a month later in Florida, where in pursuance of instructions from my Southern managers I arrived at Daytona on a Monday, to open the flouris.h.i.+ng Chautauqua Course, which has become a permanent feature of life at that attractive Southern resort. The seriousness of the situation grew out of the quality of the genius and the nature of the popularity of the other individual involved, who was no less a personage than the Hon. William Jennings Bryan. Any minor star in the platform firmament who comes into collision with the planetary splendor of this Monarch of Modern Loquacity has about as much chance of escaping unscathed as a tallow-dip would have in a pa.s.sage at arms with the sun itself.
There is no escaping the fact that Mr. Bryan is the idol of the Chautauqua Circuit, and it is equally true that every bit of the success he has achieved therein he has earned many times over. I am not, never have been, and see no possibility of my ever becoming, a devotee of Mr.
Bryan's political fortunes; but as a platform speaker he is far and away the most brilliant and likable personality in the public eye to-day. He is an expert in playing upon the emotions of an audience, large or small--preferably large--as ever was Dudley Buck in the manipulation of the keys and stops of an organ, and he can at will strike chords in the human heart as searchingly appealing as any produced by an Elman or a Kreisler on the violin, or a Paderewski at the piano.
The keynotes of his platform work are a seeming sincerity and a magnetic humanness that are irresistible, and no individual who has ever listened to him in matters outside of political controversy, however reluctant to admit his greatness, has failed to fall beneath the winning spell of man, matter, and method. He is an interesting personality, and has a greater number of points of contact with the general run of humanity than any other public speaker of to-day. It is a stimulating thing to know that in this line of human endeavor he has got his reward in the a.s.sured position he holds in a movement at which it is the fas.h.i.+on in some uninformed and cynical quarters to sneer, but which in point of fact has had a supremely awakening effect upon the American people, and for which we are all of us the better off.
”All of which,” as a friend of mine once put it after I had expressed myself in similar terms concerning Mr. Bryan, ”is some tribute for a narrow-minded, hide-bound, bigoted, old standpat, reactionary, antediluvian Republican to pay to a hated rival!”
I was frankly appalled on arriving at Daytona to find the town placarded from end to end with posters announcing Mr. Bryan's appearance there that evening--my evening, as I had supposed it to be. I did not know exactly what to do. I knew perfectly well what would happen to me if it came to a hand-to-hand contest for possession of the stage. Physically, with Mr. Bryan and myself left to decide the matter for ourselves, after the fas.h.i.+on of a pair of bantam white hopes, I felt that I might have a fairly good chance to win out; for I am not altogether without brawn, and in the matter of handling a pair of boxing gloves am probably quite as expert as the late Secretary of State; but n.o.body outside of Matteawan would be so blind to commonsense as to expect an audience anywhere either to stand neutral or to indulge in a policy of ”watchful waiting” with such a contest going on on the platform.
My first impulse in the circ.u.mstances was to get out of town as quickly and as quietly as I could, and forget that there was such a place as Daytona on the map; but a careful scrutiny of my letter of instructions rea.s.sured me. The date, according to the supreme managers at Atlanta, was clearly mine, and I decided at least to go down with colors flying.
I have never run from my own lithographs, and I saw no reason why I should flee from Mr. Bryan's. I got in touch with the local committee as soon as possible, and soon had at least the solace of companions.h.i.+p in my misery. They were as upset about it as I was.
”But, Mr. Bangs,” protested the chairman, almost with tears in his eyes--his voice was full of them--”you aren't due here until to-morrow night.”