by default—you have tonight as fine an audience as ever assembled in
New Orleans.”

We passed down a side hallway and under the stage, preparatory to
going on the platform. In this room below the stage a single electric
light shone. The place was dark and dingy, in singular contrast to the
beauty, light, cleanliness and order just beyond. In the corner were
tables piled high—evidently used for banquets—broken furniture and
discarded boxes.

Several smart young men in full dress sat on the tables smoking
cigarettes. One young man said in explanation, “We were crowded
out—had to give up our seats to ladies—so we are going to sit on the
stage.”

The soft blue smoke from the cigarettes seemed to hug close about the
lonely electric 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.