light.

I saw the smoke and thought that beside the odor of tobacco I detected
the smell of smoldering pine.

"Isn't it a trifle smoky here?" I said to the young man nearest me.

He laughed at this remark and handed me a cigarette.

The Secretary of the Club and I went up the narrow stairs to the stage.
As we stood there behind the curtain I looked at the pleasant-faced
man. "You didn't detect the odor of burning wood down there, did you?"
I asked.

"No; but you see the windows are open, and there are bonfires outside,
I suppose."

"I am a fool," I thought; "and James Whitcomb Riley was right when he
said that the speaker who is about to make his bow to an audience is
always so keyed up that at the moment he is incapable of sane
thinking."

I excused myself and walked over to an open window at the back of the
stage and looked down.

It must have been forty feet to the stony street beneath.

Then I went to a side window and threw up the sash. This window looked
out on a roof ten or twelve feet below. I got a broken broom that
stood in the corner and propped the window open.

The thought of fire was upon me and I was inwardly planning what I
would do in case of a stampede. I am always thinking about what I
would do should this or that happen. Nothing can surprise me--not even
death. If any of my best helpers should leave me, I have it all
planned exactly whom I will put in their places. I have it arranged
who will take my own place--my will is made and my body is to be
cremated.

"Cremated? Not tonight!" I said to myself, as I placed the broom under
the sash. "If a panic occurs, the people will go out of the doors and
I will stick to the stage until my coat-tails singe. I'll say that the
fire is in an adjoining building; then I'll smilingly bow myself off
the stage and gently drop out of that window."

"All ready when you are," said Mr. Fass.

I passed out on the stage before that vast sea of faces.

It was a glorious sight. There was a row of military men from the
French warship in the harbor, down in front; priests, and ladies with
sparkling diamonds; a bishop wearing a purple vestment under his black
gown sat to one side; a stout lady in decollete waved a feather fan in
rhythmic, mystic motion, far back to the left.

The audience applauded encouragingly, I wished I was back in that dear
East Aurora. But I began.

In a few minutes my heart ceased to thump and I knew we were off.

I spoke for two