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- Herausgeber: GAEditori
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
Mark Twain was an American writer, humorist, aphorist and author of fictional masterpieces of nineteenth-century American literature such as The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn which entered the collective and which have had numerous television and film transpositions. He is considered one of the greatest celebrities of his time: William Faulkner wrote that he was the "first true American writer"
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Mark Twain
Indice dei contenuti
Mark Twain
and Other Stories
CHAPTER II
“Thir-ty thousand dollars!”
“Thir-ty thousand dollars!” the song went on and on. A vast sum, an unthinkable sum!
“Ah, it'll be grand, Aleck! Out of the first thousand we'll have a horse and a buggy for summer, and a cutter and a skin lap-robe for winter.”
“Out of the capital? Nothing of the kind. Not if it was a million!” Sally was deeply disappointed; the glow went out of his face.
He did not finish, for he saw her eye soften; his supplication had touched her. She said, with gentle persuasiveness:
“That will answer, that will answer, Aleck! How dear and good you are! There will be a noble income and if we can spend that—”
“Why, ye-s. Yes, of course. But we'll have to wait so long. Six months before the first interest falls due.”
“Longer, Aleck? Why? Don't they pay half-yearly?”
“What way, then?”
“Big. That's good. Go on, Aleck. What is it?”
“By George, but it sounds good, Aleck! Then the shares will be worth—how much? And when?”
He was flying to the writing-desk, but Aleck stopped him and put him back in his chair. She said:
Sally's excitement went down a degree or two, but he was not wholly appeased.
“How can you, Sally! Don't talk in that way, it is perfectly scandalous.”
“But why should you want to talk in that dreadful way? How would you like to have people talk so about you, and you not cold yet?”
“All the eggs in one basket—that's the objection.”
“There is no hurry; I am going to look around before I do anything with it.”
“There'll be twenty thousand profit coming from the ten a year from now. We can spend that, can't we, Aleck?”
“No, dear,” she said, “it won't sell high till we've had the first semi-annual dividend. You can spend part of that.”
“Oh, do be patient! It might even be declared in three months—it's quite within the possibilities.”
“Well?”
“No, there's no hurry about that; I must look around first, and think.”
“Why, I have to find work for the thirty thousand that comes out of the coal, haven't I?”
Where have you arrived?”
“Why, Aleck, it's splendid! How does it aggregate?”
“My! isn't it wonderful? By gracious! luck has come our way at last, after all the hard sledding. Aleck!”
“I'm going to cash in a whole three hundred on the missionaries—what real right have we care for expenses!”
CHAPTER III
“Let us be humbly thankful that he has been spared; and—”
“Sally! For shame!”
“I do not see how you can say such unkind and unjust things. There is no such thing as immoral piety.”
“You have said quite enough,” said Aleck, coldly; “let the subject be dropped.”
Confessedly defeated, he was properly tame now and subdued. Aleck forgave him with her eyes.
CHAPTER IV
“Damn his livers, he's immortal!”
“How would you feel if you were suddenly cut off just after such an awful remark had escaped out of you?”
“I'd feel I was lucky I hadn't got caught with it in me.”
You'll stay right where you are!”
“Sally Foster, don't you know you would have to inquire around?”
“Oh, listen to the man! Some day you've got to prove to the executors that you never inquired. What then?”
“Well?”
“All right,” with a sigh and reluctantly.
“Yes, Aleck, it's certainly so.”
At a subsequent time he relapsed.
CHAPTER V
“The suspense is over, Sally—and we are worth a cold million!” Sally wept for gratitude, and said:
They shelved the pork-packer's son and the banker's son, and sat down to consider the Governor's son and the son of the Congressman.
Twenty-four hundred millions!
“Somebody's got to give in. It's up to me. Consider that I've named it—never mind pronouncing it out aloud.”
“Is it enough?”
“What shall we do?”
“Retire from business?”
“I am agreed. The good work is finished; we will take a long rest and enjoy the money.”
“Yes, dear?”
“The whole of it.”
CHAPTER VII
“Yes, dear.”
“Sally, what would you say to—royalty?”
Aleck glowed; she was profoundly happy. She said:
“No. Trust me for that. He's not a liability, he's an asset. So is the other one.”
“His Royal Highness Sigismund-Siegfried-Lauenfeld-Dinkelspiel-
“No! You can't mean it!”
His cup was full, and he hugged her to his heart with rapture, saying:
“Next Sunday.”
“What do they call it that for, Sally?”
“Then we will insist upon it. More—I will compel it. It is morganatic marriage or none.”
CHAPTER VIII
“Now and here I proclaim—”
“Land, it's as tough as Tilbury Foster!—as we say.”
“No harm intended, I assure you. It's just a saying; just a joke, you know— nothing in it. Relation of yours?”
“I—well, not that I know of, but we've heard of him.” The editor was thankful, and resumed his composure. Sally added: “Is he—is he—well?”
The Fosters were trembling with grief, though it felt like joy. Sally said, noncommittally—and tentatively:
“If you are including Tilbury,” said he, “it don't apply. He hadn't a cent; the town had to bury him.”
“Is it true? Do you know it to be true?”
An hour later. Still they sat there, bowed, motionless, silent, the visitor long ago gone, they unaware.
Toward the end the darkness lifted from Sally's ruined mind for a moment, and he said:
A DOG'S TALE
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
“Come back to us—oh, come back to us, and forgive—it is all so sad without our—”
0079
WAS IT HEAVEN? OR HELL?
“You told a lie?”
CHAPTER II
Twice, at intervals, Aunt Hester said, in frozen amazement:
Twice, at intervals, Aunt Hannah followed with the muttered and amazed ejaculation:
Helen still begged, and said the sin was her own, her mother had had no hand in it—why must she be made to suffer for it?
The three moved toward the sick-room.
He was approaching the house—out of the distance; the aunts and the culprit were moving toward the sick-chamber.
“Wait!” said Aunt Hannah, and put out her hand and stayed the girl from leaping into them.
Standing stricken and forlorn before her judges, the young girl mourned her sorrowful tale through the end, then in a passion of appeal cried out:
“Forgive you, my darling? Oh, come to my arms!—there, lay your head upon my breast, and be at peace. If you had told a thousand lies—”
“Didn't I tell you this patient must be protected from all excitement? What the hell have you been doing? Clear out of the place!”
She went from the presence. His face clouded over again at once; and as he sat down he said:
With one impulse the old ladies sprang to their feet, quaking with terror.
“Do? We must fly to her. We—”
They sat down, distressed and indignant, but obedient, under compulsion. He proceeded:
“Begin, Hester.”
Hannah came to her sister's rescue:
“All lies are sinful,” said Hannah, setting her lips together like a vise; “all lies are forbidden.”
“Hester, wouldn't you tell a lie to shield a person from an undeserved injury or shame?”
“Not even a friend?”
“Not even your dearest friend?”
The doctor struggled in silence awhile with this situation; then he asked:
“No. Not even to save his life.” Another pause. Then:
There was a hush—a silence which endured a measurable interval—then Hester answered, in a low voice, but with decision:
No one spoke for a while; then the doctor said:
“I ask you both—why?”
“Reform!”
They caught the sound of his approaching step. He entered, sat down, and began to talk.
“All of it!” burst from both ladies at once.
“It was a lie.”
“How can you make an odious confession like that, in so indifferent a tone, when you know how we feel about all forms of—”
“Well, what?”
“What would be your object and intention?”
The twins colored, but did not speak.
“That is not so!”
Do you know that that is a concession—and a confession?”
“That will not do. Answer. Was it a lie, or wasn't it?”
“It was a lie.”
CHAPTER IV
“Is she well?”
“Oh, my God! what is it? is she sick?”
“No—be comforted; she is well.”
“Thank God for those dear words! Kiss me. How I worship you for saying them!”
“Sister, it was a lie.”
“Oh, Hannah, it was a sin, but I could not help it. I could not endure the fright and the misery that were in her face.”
“Oh, I know it, I know it,” cried Hester, wringing her hands, “but even if it were now, I could not help it. I know I should do it again.”
Hester clung to her sister, begging and imploring.
“I will at least speak the truth.”
“Oh, how did she take it—that poor, desolate mother?” Hannah's eyes were swimming in tears. She said:
Hester gathered her to her heart, with a grateful “God bless you, Hannah!” and poured out her thankfulness in an inundation of worshiping praises.
CHAPTER V
Hannah?”
“I am very ill. Sometimes it comes over me that I shall never hear that dear voice again.”
Margaret was moved and distressed, and said, gently:
“Oh, all the time—all the time!”
“Yes—the first moment. She would not wait to take off her things.”
“Y—no—she—it was her own idea.”
“I was hoping you would say that. There was never such a dear and thoughtful child!... Aunt Hannah?”
CHAPTER VI
Two hours later Hester made her report. The mother asked:
“She is well.”
“She asks for a note.”
“There is no way out of it—she must have it; she will suspect, else.”
“Yes. It would break her heart.” She looked at the dead face, and her eyes filled. “I will write it,” she said.
“She thinks you will soon be well.”
“It would be a crime.”
“With a distance between—yes.”
Hester's eyes fell, and her poor old lips trembled.
Within the hour, Hester, raining tears upon the dead face, performed her pathetic mission.
The deep note of a bell came moaning down the wind.
“Oh, God knows she never will!”
Faint and far the words rose out of the stillness:
Nearer to Thee,
That raiseth me.
“How blessed it was that she never knew!”
“For liars a place is appointed. There they burn in the fires of hell from everlasting unto everlasting. Repent!”
“Speak! that I may bear the message to the chancery of heaven and bring again the decree from which there is no appeal.”
They lifted their heads in supplication. The angel was gone. While they marveled and wept he came again; and bending low, he whispered the decree.
Was it Heaven? Or Hell?
Remembering such admonitions with gratitude, Elfonzo was immediately urged by the recollection of his father's family to keep moving.
Ambulinia Valeer Elfonzo. It takes the chromo.
Ambulinia, who hardly seemed to perceive him, as she played carelessly
Still, it is now necessary to begin to pull, and to keep it up; for lack of space requires us to synopsize.
During this interval Leos did some unencouraged courting, but at last, “choked by his undertaking,” he desisted.
At this point McClintock puts in the whole of his curious play—which we skip.
Another elopement was attempted. It failed.
The name here given is a substitute for the one actually attached to thepamphlet.
It is a crowbar.
COMPLETE
THE ENEMY CONQUERED; OR, LOVE TRIUMPHANT
Thy voice is sweeter still,
Echoed by every rill.
O'er all the earth, thy army led—
Why come from Heaven to dwell on Earth?
Oh! in this dead night, if loud winds arise,
May the west its furious rage display,
(Enter Gracia.)
Remote from friends, in a forest wide.
Since that great day hath spread the seed of sinful fire.
For thee, for thee, the lilies grow;
A fairer flower the valley fills.
But He who guides the stars with a watchful eye,
Oh, this alone will avenge the wrongs I bear,
A. Who is there—Farcillo?
May you stand like Olympus' towers, Against earth and all jealous powers!
Swift as an eagle in the upper sky.
F. Security! talk to me about giving security for the future—what an insulting requisition! Have you said your prayers tonight, Madam Amelia?
A. Oh, be kind, Farcillo, don't treat me so. What do you mean by all this?
F. Aye, I do, without doubt; mark what I say, Amelia.
F. Amen to that, madam, with all my heart, and with all my soul.
F. Kill you, aye, that I will; attest it, ye fair host of light, record it, ye dark imps of hell!
A. Wherein have I not been true to you? That death is unkind, cruel, and unnatural, that kills for living.
A. I will, Farcillo, and while I am thus silent, tell me the cause of such cruel coldness in an hour like this.
A. Then, O Lord, have mercy upon me; give me courage, give me grace and fortitude to stand this hour of trial.
F. Oh, false, perjured woman, thou didst chill my blood, and makest me a demon like thyself. I saw the ring.
F. And you still wish to see him! I tell you, madam, he hath already confessed, and thou knowest the darkness of thy heart.
F. Aye, he did. Ask thy conscience, and it will speak with a voice of thunder to thy soul.
A. What, he is dead, and gone to the world of spirits with that declaration in his mouth? Oh, unhappy man! Oh, insupportable hour!
A. Alas! he is ushered into eternity without testing the matter for which I am abused and sentenced and condemned to die.
A. But half an hour allow me, to see my father and my only child, to tell her the treachery and vanity of this world.
F. Die! die! die!
I am here, the genius of the age, and the avenger of my wrongs.
(Farcillo leaning over the body of Amelia.)
Go tell the world that hope is glowing,
Go tell the stars that love is glowing,
Cumming, Ga., January 22, 1844
Cumming, January 22, 1844.
Dear Ambulinia—
Devoted Elfonzo—
And though thy love may yet be brief;
Yours faithfully, Ambulinia.
The constant current of my soul, Nor a tear from pity's eye
Desolate Hill, Cumming, Geo., 1844.
“All her work; she did it all herself—every bit. Nothing here that hasn't felt the touch of her hand. Now you would think—But I mustn't talk so much.”
“Where is she? When will she be in?”
“When do you expect her back?”
I felt a sharp sense of disappointment.
“Gone? No—why should you go? Don't go. She'll be disappointed.”
“I only just dropped over to ask about the little madam, and when is she coming home. Any news from her?”
“Well, I should think I would, if you don't mind, Henry!”
“Well, now, what put that in your head? I thought everybody knew she wasn't coming till Saturday.”
Saturday afternoon I found I was taking out my watch pretty often. Henry noticed it, and said, with a startled look:
“All hands stand by! One more drink, and she's here!”
“Drop that! Take the other.”
“Oh, I'm so thankful nothing has happened!”
“She? Poor thing, she's been dead nineteen years!”
“And he lost his mind in consequence?”
THE LETTER
Mr. S. L. Clemens, HARTFORD, CONN.:
I appeal to you to grant me this favor. With deepest gratitude I think you for your attention.
MR. H. How do her books strike you?
C. I don't know.
C. I—I think not.
C. Yes—I suppose so. I think so.
C. I believe I do not know.
C. Well—no, I haven't.
C. I don't know her.
C. No.
C. Well, she—she wrote and asked me to find a publisher for her, and mentioned you.
C. She wished me to use my influence.
C. Well, I think she thought you would be more likely to examine her book if you were influenced.
C. Yes.
C. I knew her uncle. You are forgetting her uncle.
H. Recent? When was all this?
H. What a basis to judge a book upon! As first you said you knew him, and now you don't know whether you did or not.
H. What makes you think you thought you knew him?
H. She says so!
H. Come—how can you know it when you don't remember it.
C. No—well, not very.
A TELEPHONIC CONVERSATION
C. O. Of course it is. What do you want?
C. O. All right. Just keep your ear to the telephone.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause. What?
I turned it over with a backstitch on the selvage edge.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Long pause.
Yes, I think it is very sweet—and very solemn and impressive, if you get the andantino and the pianissimo right.
Oh, gum-drops, gum-drops! But I never allow them to eat striped candy. And of course they can't, till they get their teeth, anyway.
Pause.
Pause.
Oh no, not at all; I like to talk—but I'm afraid I'm keeping you from your affairs.
Visitors?
No, we never use butter on them.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
(Hangs up the telephone and says, “Oh, it does tire a person's arm so!”)
One winter's night some masked burglars forced their way into the bank, and found Edward Mills there alone. They commanded him to reveal the
The brave cashier's head-stone has this inscription: “Be pure, honest, sober, industrious, considerate, and you will never—”
THE FIVE BOONS OF LIFE
“Here are gifts. Take one, leave the others. And be wary, choose wisely; oh, choose wisely! for only one of them is valuable.”
“There is no need to consider”; and he chose Pleasure.
“Four of the gifts remain. Choose once more; and oh, remember—time is flying, and only one of them is precious.”
“Choose again.” It was the fairy speaking.
The man reflected long, then chose Fame; and the fairy, sighing, went her way.
“Chose yet again.” It was the fairy's voice.
The fairy came, bringing again four of the gifts, but Death was wanting. She said:
“Oh, miserable me! What is left for me?”
THE FIRST WRITING-MACHINES
Some days ago a correspondent sent in an old typewritten sheet, faded by age, containing the following letter over the signature of Mark Twain:
1904. VILLA QUARTO, FLORENCE, JANUARY.
8185
0189
Elargizione del Re all' Ospedale italiano
0190
Spettacolli del di 25
TEATRO ALFIERI.—Compagnia drammatica Drago—(Ore 20,30)—La Legge.
CINEMATOGRAFO — Via Brunelleschi n. 4.—Programma straordinario, Don Chisciotte — Prezzi populari.
che fugge con un cocchiere
Waldenbure scomparve il 9 novembre. Sarebbe partita col suo cocchiere.
0193
Grave Disgrazia Sul Ponte Vecchio
0195
I am sure I hope so myself.
Revolverate in teatro
0197
I will explain that a facchino is a general-utility domestic. Mine was a horsedoctor in his better days, and a very good one.
“Front—face!”
“Stand at ease!”
“About—face! Eyes—front! Helm alee—hard aport! Forward—march!” and the drums let go again.
He said:
I said I did not know, but we could try a dog and see. So he sent out an aidede-camp to give the order to add the dog.
“Tu hai un cane, thou hast a dog.”
“Noi abbiamo un cane, we have a dog.”
“Eglino hanno un cane, they have a dog.”
“I fear you are disappointed.”
“What is cat, in Italian?” I asked.
“Is it a gentleman cat, or a lady?”
“How are these people as regards that animal?”
“You hesitate: that is enough. How are they about chickens?” He tilted his eyes toward heaven in mute ecstasy. I understood.
“Very well, polli will do. Which squad is detailed for duty next?”
“Send out and order it to the front—with chickens. And let them understand that we don't want any more of this cold indifference.”
A few minutes elapsed. Then the squad marched in and formed up, their faces glowing with enthusiasm, and the file-leader shouted:
“Good!” I said. “Go on, the next.”
“Fine! Next!”
“Moltimoltissimo! Go on, the next!”
“Basta-basta aspettatto avanti—last man—charge!”
Then they formed in echelon, by columns of fours, refused the left, and retired in great style on the double-quick. I was enchanted, and said:
“The Imperfect.”
“Io Aveva, I had, tu avevi, thou hadst, egli aveva, he had, noi av—”
“But this is another breed.”
“How do you make it out?”
“But I beg you, podere! It is often quite indispensable in cases where—”
1. Colazione is Italian for a collection, a meeting, a seance, a sitting.—M.T.
9212
The Humorous Story an American Development.—Its Difference from Comic and Witty Stories
“Where are you going with that carcass?”
“His leg, forsooth?” responded the astonished officer; “you mean his head, you booby.”
“It is true, sir, just as you have said.” Then after a pause he added, “But he TOLD me IT WAS HIS LEG!!!!!”
THE GOLDEN ARM
A Biographical Sketch
ANOTHER OLD HERO GONE
Independence, Braddock's defeat, the throwing over of the tea in Boston
WIT INSPIRATIONS OF THE “TWO-YEAROLDS”
“Abraham is a good name. Very well. Let us have Abraham for one of his names.”
“Abraham suits the subscriber.”
“What a little darling it is!” My father said:
“No names are better. Let us add Isaac and Jacob to his names.” I said:
“Samuel is a very excellent name.”
“My son!”
“Why?”
“My son, this is unreasonable. Many great and good men have been named Samuel.”
“What! There was Samuel the prophet. Was not he great and good?”
“My son! With His own voice the Lord called him.”
AN ENTERTAINING ARTICLE
AN ENGLISH CRITIC ON MARK TWAIN
REVIEWS OF NEW BOOKS
(One month later)
(Which is strong commendation from a book publisher.)
And then I will occupy a back seat and enjoy the cordial applause.
A LETTER TO THE SECRETARY OF THE TREASURY
The Hon. The Secretary Of The Treasury,Washington, D. C.:
Twelve tons early greenbacks, range size, suitable for cooking.
Please deliver with all convenient despatch at my house in Riverdale at lowest rates for spot cash, and send bill to
Mark Twain, Who will be very grateful, and will vote right.
TO THE EDITOR:
Mark Twain.
A MONUMENT TO ADAM
(The following letter, signed by Satan and purporting to come from him, we have reason to believe was not written by him, but by Mark Twain.—
TO THE EDITOR OF HARPER'S WEEKLY:
INTRODUCTION TO “THE NEW GUIDE OF THE CONVERSATION IN PORTUGUESE AND ENGLISH”
DIALOGUE 16
Anothony, go to accompany they gentilsmen, do they see the town.
Come with me, if you please. I shall not folget nothing what can to merit your attention. Here we are near to cathedral; will you come in there?
Admire this master piece gothic architecture's.
The cupola and the nave are not less curious to see.
It is the town hall.
It is the Observatory.
The streets are very layed out by line and too paved.
Two leagues.
It not fail them.
It is the arsnehal, the spectacle's hall, the Cusiomhouse, and the Purse.
That it shall be for another day; we are tired.
TO INFORM ONE'SELF OF A PERSON
Is a German.
He is of the Saxony side.
ADVICE TO LITTLE GIRLS
POST-MORTEM POETRY (1)
DIED
That merry shout no more I hear,
No little arms are around my neck,
No kisses drop upon my cheek, These lips are sealed to me. Dear Lord, how could I give Clara up To any but to Thee?
That merry shout no more I hear,
No little arms are round my neck,
No kisses drop upon my cheek; These lips are sealed to me.
In the same journal, of the same date, I find the following (surname suppressed, as before):
That merry shout no more I hear,
No little arms are round my neck,
No kisses drop upon my cheek, These lips are sealed to me.
In the Ledger (same copy referred to above) I find the following (I alter surname, as usual):
A mother dear, a mother kind,
Cease to weep, for tears are vain, Mother dear is out of pain.
Serve thy God with filial fear,
Where all is peace, and joy, and love.
'Tis sweet to rest in lively hope
To waft my spirit home.
Burns.—On the 20th inst., Michael Burns, aged 40 years.
Here thy loss we deeply feel;
Funeral at 2 o'clock sharp.
Affliction sore long time he bore,
Till God at last did hear him mourn, And eased him of his pain.
We did not think so soon to part;
With one more extract I will close:
Our little Sammy's gone,
A tear within a father's eye,
Can only tell the agony How hard it is to part.
“The man would be a fool who tried to add anything to that. Let us pray!”
LINES
Friends and neighbors all draw near,
And never leave your children dear When they are small, and go away.
That happened in year of '63;
Their mother she had gone away,
The house took fire and down did burn; Before their mother did return.
And then the cry of fire was given;
Their father he to war had gone,
The neighbors often told his wife
Unless she got some one to stay, And of the little ones take care.
And the youngest only eleven months old,
How can she bear to see the place.
Without a single one to look to them, Or of the little ones to take good care.
Whereunder their little burnt bones lay,
''Twas God had pity, and took us on high.'
And ask God her to forgive;
Her husband and her children too, God has took from pain and woe.
And when it is God's holy will, O, may she be prepared To meet her God and friends in peace, And leave this world of care.
THE DANGER OF LYING IN BED
“Have an accident insurance ticket, also?”
“But it is for accident insurance, and if you are going to travel by rail—”
You will excuse me from taking any more chances on those beds. The railroads are good enough for me.
PORTRAIT OF KING WILLIAM III
COMMENDATIONS OF THE PORTRAIT
The expression is very interesting. J.W. Titian.
It is the neatest thing in still life I have seen for years. Rosa Bonheur.
I never saw such character portrayed in a picture face before. De Mellville.
DOES THE RACE OF MAN LOVE A LORD?
“The Englishman dearly loves a lord.”
“The human race dearly envies a lord.”
“Do you see that gentleman going along there? It is Mr. Rockefeller.”
How many times in your life have you heard this boastful remark:
“You said he had a handful of special-brand cigars on the table?”
“He could have been counting the cigars, you know.”
EXTRACTS FROM ADAM'S DIARY
My life is not as happy as it was.
This way to the Whirlpool
Cave of the Winds this way
TUESDAY.—She told me she was made out of a rib taken from my body.
EVE'S DIARY
0300
Today the same thing over. I've got it up the tree again.
When the dodo came along he thought it was a wildcat—I saw it in his eye.
SUNDAY.—It is pleasant again, now, and I am happy; but those were heavy days; I do not think of them when I can help it.
That first time that she forsook me! ah, I shall never forget that—never, never.
Another direct question, and it also had to have a direct answer.
The fire was traveling farther and farther off. He went to the edge of the burned place and stood looking down, and said:
“Fire-coals.”
EXTRACT FROM ADAM'S DIARY
I have learned a number of things, and am educated, now, but I wasn't at first.
Then why is it that I love him? Merely because he is masculine, I think.
AT EVE'S GRAVE
Printed in April 2022
Mark Twain
THE $30,000 BEQUEST
and Other Stories
CHAPTER I
Lakeside was a pleasant little town of five or six thousand inhabitants, and a rather pretty one, too, as towns go in the Far West. It had church accommodations for thirty-five thousand, which is the way of the Far West and the South, where everybody is religious, and where each of the Protestant sects is represented and has a plant of its own. Rank was unknown in Lakeside— unconfessed, anyway; everybody knew everybody and his dog, and a sociable friendliness was the prevailing atmosphere.
Saladin Foster was book-keeper in the principal store, and the only highsalaried man of his profession in Lakeside. He was thirty-five years old, now; he had served that store for fourteen years; he had begun in his marriage-week at four hundred dollars a year, and had climbed steadily up, a hundred dollars a year, for four years; from that time forth his wage had remained eight hundred— a handsome figure indeed, and everybody conceded that he was worth it.
His wife, Electra, was a capable helpmeet, although—like himself—a dreamer of dreams and a private dabbler in romance. The first thing she did, after her marriage—child as she was, aged only nineteen—was to buy an acre of ground on the edge of the town, and pay down the cash for it—twenty-five dollars, all her fortune. Saladin had less, by fifteen. She instituted a vegetable garden there, got it farmed on shares by the nearest neighbor, and made it pay her a hundred per cent. a year. Out of Saladin's first year's wage she put thirty dollars in the savings-bank, sixty out of his second, a hundred out of his third, a hundred and fifty out of his fourth. His wage went to eight hundred a year, then, and meantime two children had arrived and increased the expenses, but she banked two hundred a year from the salary, nevertheless, thenceforth. When she had been married seven years she built and furnished a pretty and comfortable twothousand-dollar house in the midst of her garden-acre, paid half of the money down and moved her family in. Seven years later she was out of debt and had several hundred dollars out earning its living.
Earning it by the rise in landed estate; for she had long ago bought another acre or two and sold the most of it at a profit to pleasant people who were willing to build, and would be good neighbors and furnish a general comradeship for herself and her growing family. She had an independent income from safe investments of about a hundred dollars a year; her children were growing in years and grace; and she was a pleased and happy woman. Happy in her husband, happy in her children, and the husband and the children were happy in her. It is at this point that this history begins.
The youngest girl, Clytemnestra—called Clytie for short—was eleven; her sister, Gwendolen—called Gwen for short—was thirteen; nice girls, and comely. The names betray the latent romance-tinge in the parental blood, the parents' names indicate that the tinge was an inheritance. It was an affectionate family, hence all four of its members had pet names, Saladin's was a curious and unsexing one—Sally; and so was Electra's—Aleck. All day long Sally was a good and diligent book-keeper and salesman; all day long Aleck was a good and faithful mother and housewife, and thoughtful and calculating business woman; but in the cozy living-room at night they put the plodding world away, and lived in another and a fairer, reading romances to each other, dreaming dreams, comrading with kings and princes and stately lords and ladies in the flash and stir and splendor of noble palaces and grim and ancient castles.
CHAPTER II
Now came great news! Stunning news—joyous news, in fact. It came from a neighboring state, where the family's only surviving relative lived. It was Sally's relative—a sort of vague and indefinite uncle or second or third cousin by the name of Tilbury Foster, seventy and a bachelor, reputed well off and corresponding sour and crusty. Sally had tried to make up to him once, by letter, in a bygone time, and had not made that mistake again. Tilbury now wrote to Sally, saying he should shortly die, and should leave him thirty thousand dollars, cash; not for love, but because money had given him most of his troubles and exasperations, and he wished to place it where there was good hope that it would continue its malignant work. The bequest would be found in his will, and would be paid over. PROVIDED, that Sally should be able to prove to the executors that he had Taken no notice of the gift by spoken word or by letter, had made no inquiries concerning the moribund's progress toward the everlasting tropics, and had not attended the funeral.
As soon as Aleck had partially recovered from the tremendous emotions created by the letter, she sent to the relative's habitat and subscribed for the local paper.
Man and wife entered into a solemn compact, now, to never mention the great news to any one while the relative lived, lest some ignorant person carry the fact to the death-bed and distort it and make it appear that they were disobediently thankful for the bequest, and just the same as confessing it and publishing it, right in the face of the prohibition.
For the rest of the day Sally made havoc and confusion with his books, and Aleck could not keep her mind on her affairs, not even take up a flower-pot or book or a stick of wood without forgetting what she had intended to do with it. For both were dreaming.
“Thir-ty thousand dollars!”
All day long the music of those inspiring words sang through those people's heads.
From his marriage-day forth, Aleck's grip had been upon the purse, and Sally had seldom known what it was to be privileged to squander a dime on nonnecessities.
“Thir-ty thousand dollars!” the song went on and on. A vast sum, an unthinkable sum!
All day long Aleck was absorbed in planning how to invest it, Sally in planning how to spend it.
There was no romance-reading that night. The children took themselves away early, for their parents were silent, distraught, and strangely unentertaining. The good-night kisses might as well have been impressed upon vacancy, for all the response they got; the parents were not aware of the kisses, and the children had been gone an hour before their absence was noticed. Two pencils had been busy during that hour—note-making; in the way of plans. It was Sally who broke the stillness at last. He said, with exultation:
“Ah, it'll be grand, Aleck! Out of the first thousand we'll have a horse and a buggy for summer, and a cutter and a skin lap-robe for winter.”
Aleck responded with decision and composure—
“Out of the capital? Nothing of the kind. Not if it was a million!” Sally was deeply disappointed; the glow went out of his face.
“ Oh, Aleck!” he said, reproachfully. “We've always worked so hard and been so scrimped: and now that we are rich, it does seem—”
He did not finish, for he saw her eye soften; his supplication had touched her. She said, with gentle persuasiveness:
“ We must not spend the capital, dear, it would not be wise. Out of the income from it—”
“That will answer, that will answer, Aleck! How dear and good you are! There will be a noble income and if we can spend that—”
“ Not all of it, dear, not all of it, but you can spend a part of it. That is, a reasonable part. But the whole of the capital—every penny of it—must be put right to work, and kept at it. You see the reasonableness of that, don't you?”
“Why, ye-s. Yes, of course. But we'll have to wait so long. Six months before the first interest falls due.”
“ Yes—maybe longer.”
“Longer, Aleck? Why? Don't they pay half-yearly?”
“ That kind of an investment—yes; but I sha'n't invest in that way.”
“What way, then?”
“ For big returns.”
“Big. That's good. Go on, Aleck. What is it?”
“ Coal. The new mines. Cannel. I mean to put in ten thousand. Ground floor. When we organize, we'll get three shares for one.”
“By George, but it sounds good, Aleck! Then the shares will be worth—how much? And when?”
“ About a year. They'll pay ten per cent. half yearly, and be worth thirty thousand. I know all about it; the advertisement is in the Cincinnati paper here.”
“ Land, thirty thousand for ten—in a year! Let's jam in the whole capital and pull out ninety! I'll write and subscribe right now—tomorrow it maybe too late.”
He was flying to the writing-desk, but Aleck stopped him and put him back in his chair. She said:
“ Don't lose your head so. We mustn't subscribe till we've got the money; don't you know that?”
Sally's excitement went down a degree or two, but he was not wholly appeased.
“ Why, Aleck, we'll have it, you know—and so soon, too. He's probably out of his troubles before this; it's a hundred to nothing he's selecting his brimstoneshovel this very minute. Now, I think—” Aleck shuddered, and said:
“How can you, Sally! Don't talk in that way, it is perfectly scandalous.”
“ Oh, well, make it a halo, if you like, I don't care for his outfit, I was only just talking. Can't you let a person talk?”
“But why should you want to talk in that dreadful way? How would you like to have people talk so about you, and you not cold yet?”
“ Not likely to be, for one while, I reckon, if my last act was giving away money for the sake of doing somebody a harm with it. But never mind about Tilbury, Aleck, let's talk about something worldly. It does seem to me that that mine is the place for the whole thirty. What's the objection?”
“All the eggs in one basket—that's the objection.”
“ All right, if you say so. What about the other twenty? What do you mean to do with that?”
“There is no hurry; I am going to look around before I do anything with it.”
“ All right, if your mind's made up,” sighed Sally. He was deep in thought awhile, then he said:
“There'll be twenty thousand profit coming from the ten a year from now. We can spend that, can't we, Aleck?”
Aleck shook her head.
“No, dear,” she said, “it won't sell high till we've had the first semi-annual dividend. You can spend part of that.”
“ Shucks, only that—and a whole year to wait! Confound it, I—”
“Oh, do be patient! It might even be declared in three months—it's quite within the possibilities.”
“ Oh, jolly! oh, thanks!” and Sally jumped up and kissed his wife in gratitude. “It'll be three thousand—three whole thousand! how much of it can we spend, Aleck? Make it liberal!—do, dear, that's a good fellow.”
Aleck was pleased; so pleased that she yielded to the pressure and conceded a sum which her judgment told her was a foolish extravagance—a thousand dollars. Sally kissed her half a dozen times and even in that way could not express all his joy and thankfulness. This new access of gratitude and affection carried Aleck quite beyond the bounds of prudence, and before she could restrain herself she had made her darling another grant—a couple of thousand out of the fifty or sixty which she meant to clear within a year of the twenty which still remained of the bequest. The happy tears sprang to Sally's eyes, and he said:
“ Oh, I want to hug you!” And he did it. Then he got his notes and sat down and began to check off, for first purchase, the luxuries which he should earliest wish to secure. “Horse—buggy—cutter—lap-robe—patent-leathers—dog— plug-hat— church-pew—stem-winder—new teeth—say, Aleck!”
“Well?”
“ Ciphering away, aren't you? That's right. Have you got the twenty thousand invested yet?”
“No, there's no hurry about that; I must look around first, and think.”
“ But you are ciphering; what's it about?”
“Why, I have to find work for the thirty thousand that comes out of the coal, haven't I?”
“ Scott, what a head! I never thought of that. How are you getting along?
Where have you arrived?”
“ Not very far—two years or three. I've turned it over twice; once in oil and once in wheat.”
“Why, Aleck, it's splendid! How does it aggregate?”
“ I think—well, to be on the safe side, about a hundred and eighty thousand clear, though it will probably be more.”
“My! isn't it wonderful? By gracious! luck has come our way at last, after all the hard sledding. Aleck!”
“ Well?”
“I'm going to cash in a whole three hundred on the missionaries—what real right have we care for expenses!”
“ You couldn't do a nobler thing, dear; and it's just like your generous nature, you unselfish boy.”
The praise made Sally poignantly happy, but he was fair and just enough to say it was rightfully due to Aleck rather than to himself, since but for her he should never have had the money.
Then they went up to bed, and in their delirium of bliss they forgot and left the candle burning in the parlor. They did not remember until they were undressed; then Sally was for letting it burn; he said they could afford it, if it was a thousand. But Aleck went down and put it out.
A good job, too; for on her way back she hit on a scheme that would turn the hundred and eighty thousand into half a million before it had had time to get cold.
CHAPTER III
The little newspaper which Aleck had subscribed for was a Thursday sheet; it would make the trip of five hundred miles from Tilbury's village and arrive on Saturday. Tilbury's letter had started on Friday, more than a day too late for the benefactor to die and get into that week's issue, but in plenty of time to make connection for the next output. Thus the Fosters had to wait almost a complete week to find out whether anything of a satisfactory nature had happened to him or not. It was a long, long week, and the strain was a heavy one. The pair could hardly have borne it if their minds had not had the relief of wholesome diversion. We have seen that they had that. The woman was piling up fortunes right along, the man was spending them—spending all his wife would give him a chance at, at any rate.
At last the Saturday came, and the Weekly Sagamore arrived. Mrs. Eversly Bennett was present. She was the Presbyterian parson's wife, and was working the Fosters for a charity. Talk now died a sudden death—on the Foster side. Mrs. Bennett presently discovered that her hosts were not hearing a word she was saying; so she got up, wondering and indignant, and went away. The moment she was out of the house, Aleck eagerly tore the wrapper from the paper, and her eyes and Sally's swept the columns for the death-notices. Disappointment! Tilbury was not anywhere mentioned. Aleck was a Christian from the cradle, and duty and the force of habit required her to go through the motions. She pulled herself together and said, with a pious two-per-cent. trade joyousness:
“Let us be humbly thankful that he has been spared; and—”
“ Damn his treacherous hide, I wish—”
“Sally! For shame!”
“ I don't care!” retorted the angry man. “It's the way you feel, and if you weren't so immorally pious you'd be honest and say so.” Aleck said, with wounded dignity:
“I do not see how you can say such unkind and unjust things. There is no such thing as immoral piety.”
Sally felt a pang, but tried to conceal it under a shuffling attempt to save his case by changing the form of it—as if changing the form while retaining the juice could deceive the expert he was trying to placate. He said:
“ I didn't mean so bad as that, Aleck; I didn't really mean immoral piety, I only meant—meant—well, conventional piety, you know; er—shop piety; the—the— why, you know what I mean. Aleck—the—well, where you put up that plated article and play it for solid, you know, without intending anything improper, but just out of trade habit, ancient policy, petrified custom, loyalty to—to—hang it, I can't find the right words, but you know what I mean, Aleck, and that there isn't any harm in it. I'll try again. You see, it's this way. If a person—”
“You have said quite enough,” said Aleck, coldly; “let the subject be dropped.”
“ I'm willing,” fervently responded Sally, wiping the sweat from his forehead and looking the thankfulness he had no words for. Then, musingly, he apologized to himself. “I certainly held threes—I know it—but I drew and didn't fill. That's where I'm so often weak in the game. If I had stood pat—but I didn't. I never do. I don't know enough.”
Confessedly defeated, he was properly tame now and subdued. Aleck forgave him with her eyes.
The grand interest, the supreme interest, came instantly to the front again; nothing could keep it in the background many minutes on a stretch. The couple took up the puzzle of the absence of Tilbury's death-notice. They discussed it every which way, more or less hopefully, but they had to finish where they began, and concede that the only really sane explanation of the absence of the notice must be—and without doubt was—that Tilbury was not dead. There was something sad about it, something even a little unfair, maybe, but there it was, and had to be put up with. They were agreed as to that. To Sally it seemed a strangely inscrutable dispensation; more inscrutable than usual, he thought; one of the most unnecessary inscrutable he could call to mind, in fact—and said so, with some feeling; but if he was hoping to draw Aleck he failed; she reserved her opinion, if she had one; she had not the habit of taking injudicious risks in any market, worldly or other.
The pair must wait for next week's paper—Tilbury had evidently postponed. That was their thought and their decision. So they put the subject away and went about their affairs again with as good heart as they could.
Now, if they had but known it, they had been wronging Tilbury all the time. Tilbury had kept faith, kept it to the letter; he was dead, he had died to schedule. He was dead more than four days now and used to it; entirely dead, perfectly dead, as dead as any other new person in the cemetery; dead in abundant time to get into that week's Sagamore, too, and only shut out by an accident; an accident which could not happen to a metropolitan journal, but which happens easily to a poor little village rag like the Sagamore. On this occasion, just as the editorial page was being locked up, a gratis quart of strawberry ice-water arrived from Hostetter's Ladies and Gents Ice-Cream Parlors, and the stickful of rather chilly regret over Tilbury's translation got crowded out to make room for the editor's frantic gratitude.
On its way to the standing-galley Tilbury's notice got pied. Otherwise it would have gone into some future edition, for weekly Sagamores do not waste “live” matter, and in their galleys “live” matter is immortal, unless a pi accident intervenes. But a thing that gets pied is dead, and for such there is no resurrection; its chance of seeing print is gone, forever and ever. And so, let Tilbury like it or not, let him rave in his grave to his fill, no matter—no mention of his death would ever see the light in the Weekly Sagamore.
CHAPTER IV
Five weeks drifted tediously along. The Sagamore arrived regularly on the Saturdays, but never once contained a mention of Tilbury Foster. Sally's patience broke down at this point, and he said, resentfully:
“Damn his livers, he's immortal!”
Aleck give him a very severe rebuke, and added with icy solemnity:
“How would you feel if you were suddenly cut off just after such an awful remark had escaped out of you?”
Without sufficient reflection Sally responded:
“I'd feel I was lucky I hadn't got caught with it in me.”
Pride had forced him to say something, and as he could not think of any rational thing to say he flung that out. Then he stole a base—as he called it—that is, slipped from the presence, to keep from being brayed in his wife's discussionmortar.
Six months came and went. The Sagamore was still silent about Tilbury. Meantime, Sally had several times thrown out a feeler—that is, a hint that he would like to know. Aleck had ignored the hints. Sally now resolved to brace up and risk a frontal attack. So he squarely proposed to disguise himself and go to Tilbury's village and surreptitiously find out as to the prospects. Aleck put her foot on the dangerous project with energy and decision. She said:
“ What can you be thinking of? You do keep my hands full! You have to be watched all the time, like a little child, to keep you from walking into the fire.
You'll stay right where you are!”
“ Why, Aleck, I could do it and not be found out—I'm certain of it.”
