man that I know is always there, the opposite type, the little man
with the spectacles. There he sits, good soul, about twelve rows
back, his large spectacles beaming with appreciation and his quick
face anticipating every point. I imagine him to be by trade a minor
journalist or himself a writer of sorts, but with not enough of
success to have spoiled him.

There are other people always there, too. There is the old lady who
thinks the lecture improper; it doesn't matter how moral it is, she's
out for impropriety and she can find it anywhere. Then there is
another very terrible man against whom all American lecturers in
England should be warned--the man who is leaving on the 9 P.M. train.
English railways running into suburbs and near-by towns have a
schedule which is expressly arranged to have the principal train
leave before the lecture ends. Hence the 9-P.M.-train man. He sits
right near the front, and at ten minutes to nine he gathers up his
hat, coat, and umbrella very deliberately, rises with great calm, and
walks firmly away. His air is that of a man who has stood all that he
can and can bear no more. Till one knows about this man, and the
others who rise after him, it is very disconcerting; at first I
thought I must have said something to reflect upon the royal family.
But presently the lecturer gets to understand that it is only the
nine-o'clock train and that all the audience know about it. Then it's
all right. It's just like the people rising and stretching themselves
after the seventh innings in baseball.

In all that goes above I have been emphasising the fact that the
British and the American sense of humour are essentially the same
thing. But there are, of course, peculiar differences of form and
peculiar preferences of material that often make them seem to