Once on a day, I spoke at the Athenaeum, New Orleans, for the Young
Men's Hebrew Association.
When they had asked my fee I answered, "One Hundred Fifty Dollars."
The reply was, "We will pay you Two Hundred--it is to be a special
occasion."
A carriage was sent to my hotel for me. The Jews may be close traders,
but when it comes to social functions, they know what to do. The Jew
is the most generous man in the world, even if he can be at times cent
per cent.
As I approached the Athenaeum I thought, "What a beautiful building!"
It was stone and brick--solid, subdued, complete and substantial. The
lower rooms were used for the Hebrew Club. Upstairs stretched the
splendid hall, as I could tell from the brilliantly lighted windows.
Inside, I noticed that the stairways were carpeted with Brussels.
Glancing through the wide doorways, I beheld an audience of more than
two thousand people. The great chandeliers sent out a dazzling glory
from their crystal and gold. At the sides, rich tapestries and
hangings of velvet covered the windows.
"A beautiful building," I said to my old-time friend, Maurice J. Pass,
the Secretary of the Club.
He smiled in satisfaction and replied, "Well, we seldom let things go
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.
"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.