PUPPETS THROUGH AMERICA
theatre. It was necessary to have a microphone for ampli-
fication, and while I was still trying to invent methods of
negotiating this innovation to the performance the audi-
torium became completely full, and we were launched on
the first performance.
By this time my consciousness was at a minimum. If I
have any preference for an audience it would be for two or
three hundred elderly, scholarly people, who feel that to see
a puppet-show is to indulge in an orgy of frivolity—and—
undoubtedly if there is any condition I have a strong pre-
judice against, it is to be wedged between the shoes and
knicker suits, and to play through a microphone that con-
tinually hits me on the nose as I move to and fro to mani-
pulate the puppets. The atmosphere was at the Gates of
Hell for an Englishman, and rarely have I spent a more
uncomfortable or exhausting hour.
A repetition an hour or so later seemed impossible, but
the management refreshed us nobly with lunch, and, for the
second time, shut up in my little tropical stage, I waggled
the unseen puppets, and through all the necessary move-
ments attempted to focus my voice on the intruding micro-
phone. All dispersed and enervated by two performances
in tropical heat I staggered out to autograph books and to
give a glad-eye to interested purchasers. I like to autograph
books. The craving for a personal link between author and
reader is entirely good. But I can see the day coming when
an autograph or a simple inscription will not be enough. It
will be necessary for authors to write out a complete title
page. The movement will grow and he will have to provide
a written prologue and epilogue, and finally we shall get back
to the manuscript book complete.
IB the middle of this autographing a telephone call came
tfeugli for me. Wading through the book and boot and
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