des, she feels that for an hour and a half you do not
belong to her. When she comes with you to the lecture hall, you are both
ushered into the secretary's room. Two or three minutes before it is
time to go on the platform, it is suggested to her that it is time she
should take her seat among the audience. She looks at the secretary and
recognizes that for an hour and a half her husband is the property of
this official, who is about to hand him over to the tender mercies of
the public. As she says, "Oh, yes, I suppose I must go," she almost
feels like shaking hands with her husband, as Mrs. Baldwin takes leave
of the Professor before he starts on his aerial trip. But, though she
may not laugh, her heart is with you, and she is busy watching the
audience, ever ready to tell them, "Now, don't you think this is a very
good point? Well, then, if you do, why don't you laugh and cheer?" She
is part and parcel of yourself. She is not jealous of your success, for
she is your helpmate, your kind and sound counselor, and I can assure
you that if an audience should fail to be responsive, it would never
enter her head to lay the blame on her husband; she would feel the most
supreme contempt for "that stupid audience that was unable to appreciate
you." That's all.

But your other own folk! You are no hero to them. To judge the effect of
anything, you must be placed at a certain distance, and your own folks
are too near you.

One afternoon I had given a lecture to a large and fashionable audience
in the South of England. A near relative of mine, who lived in the
neighborhood, was in the hall. He never smiled. I watched him from the
beginning to the end. When the lecture was over he came to the little
room behind the platform to take me to his house. As he entered the room
I was settling the money matters with my _impresario_. I will let you
into the secret. There was fifty-two pounds in the house, and my share
was two-thirds of the gross receipts, that is about thirty-four pounds.
My relative heard the sum. As we drove along in his dog-cart he nudged
me and said:

"Did you make thirty-four pounds this afternoon?"

"Oh, did you hear?" I said. "Yes, that was my part of the takings. For a
small town I am quite satisfied."

"I should think you were!" he replied. "If you had made thirty-four
shillings you would have been well paid for your work!"

Nothing is more true to life than the want of appreciation the
successful man encount