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SHOWMAN
of the hole, striking the far wall and curling back in again, slowly heating the place like an oven and striking murderous panic into the whole audience. Inside it was a reverberating figure-eight of fire from stage to screen.
What happened was that a calcium side-light set fire to the tormentor— an ornamental side-scene— and spread from there up into the flies, among the numberless drop-scenes which made up the scenery of "Bluebeard, Jr." At the same time some fool had thrown open the big stage-doors where they brought in scenery, making a perfect draft from back-stage to foyer and back again. The burning gas went with the draft. The theater itself never burned— they could have given performances in it a couple of days afterwards. But it didn't have to burn to kill its hundreds. The people from the balcony were piled in the narrow arched doorway at the head of the big gilt stairway— and already many of them must have been crushed to death. Many of those in the orchestra had mobbed the side-doors, which had never been inspected to see if they would open at all. And there was another fearful jam at the main orchestra-entrance.
The jam at the balcony door was the worst. The victims had climbed over one another until, after it was over, they were found jamming the doorway from top to bottom. The main floor exit into the lobby wasn't as bad as that. I found myself there, helping to loosen the plug of frenzied men, women and children
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