nt to
entertain an audience than to be one of the crowd and bored. And it
happened that my experiences really did give me something to say, and
were exactly what an audience, in war-time, might be glad to hear. I
therefore wrote a brief note of acceptance, as one to whom this sort of
thing comes ten times a day; and thought no more about it.

No more, that is to say, till I saw the local paper announced me as a
coming event, a treat in store. I was on the list. There were those
that evening who, instead of going to a theatre, a concert, or to see
Vesta Tilley, would come to hear me. I felt then the first cold
underdraught of doubt, the chilling intimation from the bleak unknown,
where it is your own affair entirely whether you flourish or perish.
What a draught! I got up, shut the door, and looked at the day of the
month.

That was all right; yet another fortnight!

But what weakness was this? Anybody, could do it, if they knew as much
of my subject as did I. Many men would do it, without a tremor, without
shame, if they knew next to nothing about it. Look at old Brown, for
example, whose only emotions are evoked by being late for dinner, the
price of building materials, the scandalous incapacity of workmen, and
the restriction of the liberty of the subject by trade unions! He will
sit, everybody knows, while wearing plaid trousers and side-whiskers,
on the right hand of a peer, in full view of thousands, at a political
meeting, untroubled, bland, conscious of his worth, and will rise at
the word, thumbs carelessly thrust into his waistcoat pockets, begin
with a jest (the same one), and for an hour make aspirates as uncommon
as are bathrooms in his many houses.

He has nothing to say, and could not say it if he had; but he can speak
in public. You will observe the inference is obvious. One who is really
capable of constructive thought (like you and me); who has a wide range
of words to choose from even when running; who is touched, by events,
to admiration, to indignation, to alarm, to--to all that sort of thing,
he could ... the plastic audience would be in his skilful hands, there
is no doubt. (Hear, hear!)

Time passed. As Mr. A. Ward once pointed out, it is a way time has. The
night came, as at last I began to fear it would. My brief notes were in
my pocket, for I had resolutely put from me the dishonourable and
barren safety of a written lecture. In the train--how cold was the
night--I wished I had gone more