My wonderful visit (1922)

I Meet Thomas Burke and H. G. Wells 141 a dense mass of humanity packed around the entire front of the building, waiting for something that had been promised them. And then I knew that it was an arranged affair and that, so far as a chat was concerned, Wells and I were just among those present, even though we were the guests of honour. I remember keenly the crush in the elevator, a tiny little affair built for about six people and carry- ing nearer sixty. I get the viewpoint of a sardine quite easily. Upstairs it is not so bad, and I am swept into a room where there are only a few people and the door is then closed. I look all around, try- ing to spot Wells. There he is. I notice his beautiful, dark-blue eyes first. Keen and kindly they are, twinkling just now as though he were inwardly smiling, perhaps at my very apparent embarrassment. Before we can get together, however, there comes forward the camera brigade with its flash- light ammunition. Would we pose together? Wells looks hopeless. I must show that before cameras I am very much of a person, and I take the initiative with the lens peepers. We are photoed sitting, standing, hats on and off, and in every other stereotyped position known to camera men. We sign a number of photos, I in my large, sweep- ing, sprawling hand — I remember handling the pen in a dashing, swashbuckling manner—then Wells, in his small, hardly discernible style. I am