“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 hours, and I spoke well.

I did not push the lecture in front of me, nor did I drag it behind. I
got the chancery twist on it and carried it off big, as I do about one
time in ten. I finished in a whirlwind of applause, with the bishop
crying “Bravo!” and the fat lady with the fifty-dollar feather fan
beaming approbation.

Fass stood in the wings to congratulate me.

-------------------------------------

I shook hands with a hundred. The house slowly emptied. I bade the
genial Fass good-by. He took my hand in both of his. “You will come