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diff --git a/3250-0.txt b/3250-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7737e9 --- /dev/null +++ b/3250-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1169 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of How Tell a Story and Others +by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: How Tell a Story and Others + +Author: Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +Last Updated: February 18, 2009 +Release Date: August 19, 2016 [EBook #3250] +Last Updated: February 24, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOW TELL A STORY AND OTHERS *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +HOW TO TELL A STORY AND OTHERS + +by Mark Twain + + + +CONTENTS: + + HOW TO TELL A STORY + THE WOUNDED SOLDIER + THE GOLDEN ARM + MENTAL TELEGRAPHY AGAIN + THE INVALID'S STORY + + + + +HOW TO TELL A STORY + + The Humorous Story an American Development.--Its Difference + from Comic and Witty Stories. + +I do not claim that I can tell a story as it ought to be told. I only +claim to know how a story ought to be told, for I have been almost daily +in the company of the most expert story-tellers for many years. + +There are several kinds of stories, but only one difficult kind--the +humorous. I will talk mainly about that one. The humorous story is +American, the comic story is English, the witty story is French. The +humorous story depends for its effect upon the manner of the telling; +the comic story and the witty story upon the matter. + +The humorous story may be spun out to great length, and may wander +around as much as it pleases, and arrive nowhere in particular; but the +comic and witty stories must be brief and end with a point. The humorous +story bubbles gently along, the others burst. + +The humorous story is strictly a work of art--high and delicate art--and +only an artist can tell it; but no art is necessary in telling the comic +and the witty story; anybody can do it. The art of telling a humorous +story--understand, I mean by word of mouth, not print--was created in +America, and has remained at home. + +The humorous story is told gravely; the teller does his best to conceal +the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about +it; but the teller of the comic story tells you beforehand that it is +one of the funniest things he has ever heard, then tells it with eager +delight, and is the first person to laugh when he gets through. And +sometimes, if he has had good success, he is so glad and happy that +he will repeat the “nub” of it and glance around from face to face, +collecting applause, and then repeat it again. It is a pathetic thing to +see. + +Very often, of course, the rambling and disjointed humorous story +finishes with a nub, point, snapper, or whatever you like to call it. +Then the listener must be alert, for in many cases the teller will +divert attention from that nub by dropping it in a carefully casual and +indifferent way, with the pretence that he does not know it is a nub. + +Artemus Ward used that trick a good deal; then when the belated audience +presently caught the joke he would look up with innocent surprise, as if +wondering what they had found to laugh at. Dan Setchell used it before +him, Nye and Riley and others use it to-day. + +But the teller of the comic story does not slur the nub; he shouts it at +you--every time. And when he prints it, in England, France, Germany, and +Italy, he italicizes it, puts some whooping exclamation-points after +it, and sometimes explains it in a parenthesis. All of which is very +depressing, and makes one want to renounce joking and lead a better +life. + +Let me set down an instance of the comic method, using an anecdote which +has been popular all over the world for twelve or fifteen hundred years. +The teller tells it in this way: + + + + +THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. + +In the course of a certain battle a soldier whose leg had been shot +off appealed to another soldier who was hurrying by to carry him to the +rear, informing him at the same time of the loss which he had sustained; +whereupon the generous son of Mars, shouldering the unfortunate, +proceeded to carry out his desire. The bullets and cannon-balls were +flying in all directions, and presently one of the latter took the +wounded man's head off--without, however, his deliverer being aware of +it. In no-long time he was hailed by an officer, who said: + +“Where are you going with that carcass?” + +“To the rear, sir--he's lost his leg!” + +“His leg, forsooth?” responded the astonished officer; “you mean his +head, you booby.” + +Whereupon the soldier dispossessed himself of his burden, and stood +looking down upon it in great perplexity. At length he said: + +“It is true, sir, just as you have said.” Then after a pause he added, +“But he TOLD me IT WAS HIS LEG--” + + +Here the narrator bursts into explosion after explosion of thunderous +horse-laughter, repeating that nub from time to time through his +gaspings and shriekings and suffocatings. + +It takes only a minute and a half to tell that in its comic-story form; +and isn't worth the telling, after all. Put into the humorous-story +form it takes ten minutes, and is about the funniest thing I have ever +listened to--as James Whitcomb Riley tells it. + +He tells it in the character of a dull-witted old farmer who has just +heard it for the first time, thinks it is unspeakably funny, and is +trying to repeat it to a neighbor. But he can't remember it; so he gets +all mixed up and wanders helplessly round and round, putting in tedious +details that don't belong in the tale and only retard it; taking them +out conscientiously and putting in others that are just as useless; +making minor mistakes now and then and stopping to correct them and +explain how he came to make them; remembering things which he forgot +to put in in their proper place and going back to put them in there; +stopping his narrative a good while in order to try to recall the name +of the soldier that was hurt, and finally remembering that the soldier's +name was not mentioned, and remarking placidly that the name is of no +real importance, anyway--better, of course, if one knew it, but not +essential, after all--and so on, and so on, and so on. + +The teller is innocent and happy and pleased with himself, and has +to stop every little while to hold himself in and keep from laughing +outright; and does hold in, but his body quakes in a jelly-like way with +interior chuckles; and at the end of the ten minutes the audience have +laughed until they are exhausted, and the tears are running down their +faces. + +The simplicity and innocence and sincerity and unconsciousness of the +old farmer are perfectly simulated, and the result is a performance +which is thoroughly charming and delicious. This is art and fine and +beautiful, and only a master can compass it; but a machine could tell +the other story. + +To string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering and +sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they +are absurdities, is the basis of the American art, if my position is +correct. Another feature is the slurring of the point. A third is the +dropping of a studied remark apparently without knowing it, as if one +were thinking aloud. The fourth and last is the pause. + +Artemus Ward dealt in numbers three and four a good deal. He would begin +to tell with great animation something which he seemed to think was +wonderful; then lose confidence, and after an apparently absent-minded +pause add an incongruous remark in a soliloquizing way; and that was the +remark intended to explode the mine--and it did. + +For instance, he would say eagerly, excitedly, “I once knew a man in New +Zealand who hadn't a tooth in his head”--here his animation would +die out; a silent, reflective pause would follow, then he would say +dreamily, and as if to himself, “and yet that man could beat a drum +better than any man I ever saw.” + +The pause is an exceedingly important feature in any kind of story, and +a frequently recurring feature, too. It is a dainty thing, and delicate, +and also uncertain and treacherous; for it must be exactly the right +length--no more and no less--or it fails of its purpose and makes +trouble. If the pause is too short the impressive point is passed, and +[and if too long] the audience have had time to divine that a surprise +is intended--and then you can't surprise them, of course. + +On the platform I used to tell a negro ghost story that had a pause in +front of the snapper on the end, and that pause was the most important +thing in the whole story. If I got it the right length precisely, I +could spring the finishing ejaculation with effect enough to make some +impressible girl deliver a startled little yelp and jump out of her +seat--and that was what I was after. This story was called “The +Golden Arm,” and was told in this fashion. You can practise with it +yourself--and mind you look out for the pause and get it right. + + + + +THE GOLDEN ARM. + +Once 'pon a time dey wuz a monsus mean man, en he live 'way out in de +prairie all 'lone by hisself, 'cep'n he had a wife. En bimeby she died, +en he tuck en toted her way out dah in de prairie en buried her. Well, +she had a golden arm--all solid gold, fum de shoulder down. He wuz +pow'ful mean--pow'ful; en dat night he couldn't sleep, Gaze he want dat +golden arm so bad. + +When it come midnight he couldn't stan' it no mo'; so he git up, he did, +en tuck his lantern en shoved out thoo de storm en dug her up en got de +golden arm; en he bent his head down 'gin de win', en plowed en plowed +en plowed thoo de snow. Den all on a sudden he stop (make a considerable +pause here, and look startled, and take a listening attitude) en say: +“My LAN', what's dat!” + +En he listen--en listen--en de win' say (set your teeth together and +imitate the wailing and wheezing singsong of the wind), “Bzzz-z-zzz”--en +den, way back yonder whah de grave is, he hear a voice! +he hear a voice all mix' up in de win' can't hardly tell 'em +'part--“Bzzz-zzz--W-h-o--g-o-t--m-y--g-o-l-d-e-n arm?--zzz--zzz--W-h-o +g-o-t m-y g-o-l-d-e-n arm!” (You must begin to shiver violently now.) + +En he begin to shiver en shake, en say, “Oh, my! OH, my lan'!” en de +win' blow de lantern out, en de snow en sleet blow in his face en mos' +choke him, en he start a-plowin' knee-deep towards home mos' dead, he so +sk'yerd--en pooty soon he hear de voice agin, en (pause) it 'us comin' +after him! “Bzzz--zzz--zzz--W-h-o--g-o-t m-y--g-o-l-d-e-n--arm?” + +When he git to de pasture he hear it agin closter now, en +a-comin'!--a-comin' back dah in de dark en de storm--(repeat the wind +and the voice). When he git to de house he rush up-stairs en jump in de +bed en kiver up, head and years, en lay dah shiverin' en shakin'--en +den way out dah he hear it agin!--en a-comin'! En bimeby he hear +(pause--awed, listening attitude)--pat--pat--pat--hit's acomin' +up-stairs! Den he hear de latch, en he know it's in de room! + +Den pooty soon he know it's a-stannin' by de bed! (Pause.) Den--he +know it's a-bendin' down over him--en he cain't skasely git his breath! +Den--den--he seem to feel someth' n c-o-l-d, right down 'most agin his +head! (Pause.) + +Den de voice say, right at his year--“W-h-o g-o-t--m-y--g-o-l-d-e-n +arm?” (You must wail it out very plaintively and accusingly; then you +stare steadily and impressively into the face of the farthest-gone +auditor--a girl, preferably--and let that awe-inspiring pause begin to +build itself in the deep hush. When it has reached exactly the right +length, jump suddenly at that girl and yell, “You've got it!”) + +If you've got the pause right, she'll fetch a dear little yelp and +spring right out of her shoes. But you must get the pause right; and you +will find it the most troublesome and aggravating and uncertain thing +you ever undertook. + + + + + + + +MENTAL TELEGRAPHY AGAIN + +I have three or four curious incidents to tell about. They seem to come +under the head of what I named “Mental Telegraphy” in a paper written +seventeen years ago, and published long afterwards.--[The paper entitled +“Mental Telegraphy,” which originally appeared in Harper's Magazine for +December, 1893, is included in the volume entitled The American Claimant +and Other Stories and Sketches.] + +Several years ago I made a campaign on the platform with Mr. George W. +Cable. In Montreal we were honored with a reception. It began at two in +the afternoon in a long drawing-room in the Windsor Hotel. Mr. Cable and +I stood at one end of this room, and the ladies and gentlemen entered +it at the other end, crossed it at that end, then came up the long +left-hand side, shook hands with us, said a word or two, and passed on, +in the usual way. My sight is of the telescopic sort, and I presently +recognized a familiar face among the throng of strangers drifting in +at the distant door, and I said to myself, with surprise and high +gratification, “That is Mrs. R.; I had forgotten that she was a +Canadian.” She had been a great friend of mine in Carson City, Nevada, +in the early days. I had not seen her or heard of her for twenty years; +I had not been thinking about her; there was nothing to suggest her to +me, nothing to bring her to my mind; in fact, to me she had long ago +ceased to exist, and had disappeared from my consciousness. But I knew +her instantly; and I saw her so clearly that I was able to note some of +the particulars of her dress, and did note them, and they remained in my +mind. I was impatient for her to come. In the midst of the hand-shakings +I snatched glimpses of her and noted her progress with the slow-moving +file across the end of the room; then I saw her start up the side, and +this gave me a full front view of her face. I saw her last when she +was within twenty-five feet of me. For an hour I kept thinking she +must still be in the room somewhere and would come at last, but I was +disappointed. + +When I arrived in the lecture-hall that evening some one said: “Come +into the waiting-room; there's a friend of yours there who wants to see +you. You'll not be introduced--you are to do the recognizing without +help if you can.” + +I said to myself: “It is Mrs. R.; I shan't have any trouble.” + +There were perhaps ten ladies present, all seated. In the midst of them +was Mrs. R., as I had expected. She was dressed exactly as she was when +I had seen her in the afternoon. I went forward and shook hands with her +and called her by name, and said: + +“I knew you the moment you appeared at the reception this afternoon.” + She looked surprised, and said: “But I was not at the reception. I have +just arrived from Quebec, and have not been in town an hour.” + +It was my turn to be surprised now. I said: “I can't help it. I give you +my word of honor that it is as I say. I saw you at the reception, and +you were dressed precisely as you are now. When they told me a moment +ago that I should find a friend in this room, your image rose before me, +dress and all, just as I had seen you at the reception.” + +Those are the facts. She was not at the reception at all, or anywhere +near it; but I saw her there nevertheless, and most clearly and +unmistakably. To that I could make oath. How is one to explain this? I +was not thinking of her at the time; had not thought of her for years. +But she had been thinking of me, no doubt; did her thoughts flit through +leagues of air to me, and bring with it that clear and pleasant vision +of herself? I think so. That was and remains my sole experience in +the matter of apparitions--I mean apparitions that come when one +is (ostensibly) awake. I could have been asleep for a moment; the +apparition could have been the creature of a dream. Still, that is +nothing to the point; the feature of interest is the happening of the +thing just at that time, instead of at an earlier or later time, which +is argument that its origin lay in thought-transference. + +My next incident will be set aside by most persons as being merely a +“coincidence,” I suppose. Years ago I used to think sometimes of making +a lecturing trip through the antipodes and the borders of the Orient, +but always gave up the idea, partly because of the great length of the +journey and partly because my wife could not well manage to go with me. +Towards the end of last January that idea, after an interval of years, +came suddenly into my head again--forcefully, too, and without any +apparent reason. Whence came it? What suggested it? I will touch upon +that presently. + +I was at that time where I am now--in Paris. I wrote at once to Henry +M. Stanley (London), and asked him some questions about his Australian +lecture tour, and inquired who had conducted him and what were the +terms. After a day or two his answer came. It began: + + “The lecture agent for Australia and New Zealand is par + excellence Mr. R. S. Smythe, of Melbourne.” + +He added his itinerary, terms, sea expenses, and some other matters, +and advised me to write Mr. Smythe, which I did--February 3d. I began my +letter by saying in substance that while he did not know me personally +we had a mutual friend in Stanley, and that would answer for an +introduction. Then I proposed my trip, and asked if he would give me the +same terms which he had given Stanley. + +I mailed my letter to Mr. Smythe February 6th, and three days later I +got a letter from the selfsame Smythe, dated Melbourne, December 17th. +I would as soon have expected to get a letter from the late George +Washington. The letter began somewhat as mine to him had begun--with a +self-introduction: + + “DEAR MR. CLEMENS,--It is so long since Archibald Forbes and I + spent that pleasant afternoon in your comfortable house at + Hartford that you have probably quite forgotten the occasion.” + +In the course of his letter this occurs: + + “I am willing to give you” [here he named the terms which he + had given Stanley] “for an antipodean tour to last, say, three + months.” + +Here was the single essential detail of my letter answered three days +after I had mailed my inquiry. I might have saved myself the trouble and +the postage--and a few years ago I would have done that very thing, for +I would have argued that my sudden and strong impulse to write and ask +some questions of a stranger on the under side of the globe meant +that the impulse came from that stranger, and that he would answer my +questions of his own motion if I would let him alone. + +Mr. Smythe's letter probably passed under my nose on its way to lose +three weeks traveling to America and back, and gave me a whiff of its +contents as it went along. Letters often act like that. Instead of the +thought coming to you in an instant from Australia, the (apparently) +unsentient letter imparts it to you as it glides invisibly past your +elbow in the mail-bag. + +Next incident. In the following month--March--I was in America. I spent +a Sunday at Irvington-on-the-Hudson with Mr. John Brisben Walker, of the +Cosmopolitan magazine. We came into New York next morning, and went to +the Century Club for luncheon. He said some praiseful things about the +character of the club and the orderly serenity and pleasantness of its +quarters, and asked if I had never tried to acquire membership in it. I +said I had not, and that New York clubs were a continuous expense to the +country members without being of frequent use or benefit to them. + +“And now I've got an idea!” said I. “There's the Lotos--the first New +York club I was ever a member of--my very earliest love in that line. +I have been a member of it for considerably more than twenty years, yet +have seldom had a chance to look in and see the boys. They turn gray +and grow old while I am not watching. And my dues go on. I am going to +Hartford this afternoon for a day or two, but as soon as I get back I +will go to John Elderkin very privately and say: 'Remember the veteran +and confer distinction upon him, for the sake of old times. Make me an +honorary member and abolish the tax. If you haven't any such thing as +honorary membership, all the better--create it for my honor and glory.' +That would be a great thing; I will go to John Elderkin as soon as I get +back from Hartford.” + +I took the last express that afternoon, first telegraphing Mr. F. G. +Whitmore to come and see me next day. When he came he asked: “Did you +get a letter from Mr. John Elderkin, secretary of the Lotos Club, before +you left New York?” + +“Then it just missed you. If I had known you were coming I would +have kept it. It is beautiful, and will make you proud. The Board of +Directors, by unanimous vote, have made you a life member, and squelched +those dues; and, you are to be on hand and receive your distinction +on the night of the 30th, which is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the +founding of the club, and it will not surprise me if they have some +great times there.” + +What put the honorary membership in my head that day in the Century +Club? for I had never thought of it before. I don't know what brought +the thought to me at that particular time instead of earlier, but I am +well satisfied that it originated with the Board of Directors, and had +been on its way to my brain through the air ever since the moment that +saw their vote recorded. + +Another incident. I was in Hartford two or three days as a guest of the +Rev. Joseph H. Twichell. I have held the rank of Honorary Uncle to his +children for a quarter of a century, and I went out with him in the +trolley-car to visit one of my nieces, who is at Miss Porter's famous +school in Farmington. The distance is eight or nine miles. On the way, +talking, I illustrated something with an anecdote. This is the anecdote: + +Two years and a half ago I and the family arrived at Milan on our way to +Rome, and stopped at the Continental. After dinner I went below and took +a seat in the stone-paved court, where the customary lemon-trees stand +in the customary tubs, and said to myself, “Now this is comfort, comfort +and repose, and nobody to disturb it; I do not know anybody in Milan.” + +Then a young gentleman stepped up and shook hands, which damaged my +theory. He said, in substance: + +“You won't remember me, Mr. Clemens, but I remember you very well. I was +a cadet at West Point when you and Rev. Joseph H. Twichell came there +some years ago and talked to us on a Hundredth Night. I am a lieutenant +in the regular army now, and my name is H. I am in Europe, all alone, +for a modest little tour; my regiment is in Arizona.” + +We became friendly and sociable, and in the course of the talk he told +me of an adventure which had befallen him--about to this effect: + +“I was at Bellagio, stopping at the big hotel there, and ten days ago I +lost my letter of credit. I did not know what in the world to do. I was +a stranger; I knew no one in Europe; I hadn't a penny in my pocket; I +couldn't even send a telegram to London to get my lost letter replaced; +my hotel bill was a week old, and the presentation of it imminent--so +imminent that it could happen at any moment now. I was so frightened +that my wits seemed to leave me. I tramped and tramped, back and forth, +like a crazy person. If anybody approached me I hurried away, for no +matter what a person looked like, I took him for the head waiter with +the bill. + +“I was at last in such a desperate state that I was ready to do any wild +thing that promised even the shadow of help, and so this is the insane +thing that I did. I saw a family lunching at a small table on the +veranda, and recognized their nationality--Americans--father, mother, +and several young daughters--young, tastefully dressed, and pretty--the +rule with our people. I went straight there in my civilian costume, +named my name, said I was a lieutenant in the army, and told my story +and asked for help. + +“What do you suppose the gentleman did? But you would not guess in +twenty years. He took out a handful of gold coin and told me to help +myself--freely. That is what he did.” + +The next morning the lieutenant told me his new letter of credit had +arrived in the night, so we strolled to Cook's to draw money to pay +back the benefactor with. We got it, and then went strolling through +the great arcade. Presently he said, “Yonder they are; come and be +introduced.” I was introduced to the parents and the young ladies; then +we separated, and I never saw him or them any m--- + +“Here we are at Farmington,” said Twichell, interrupting. + +We left the trolley-car and tramped through the mud a hundred yards or +so to the school, talking about the time we and Warner walked out there +years ago, and the pleasant time we had. + +We had a visit with my niece in the parlor, then started for the trolley +again. Outside the house we encountered a double rank of twenty or +thirty of Miss Porter's young ladies arriving from a walk, and we stood +aside, ostensibly to let them have room to file past, but really to look +at them. Presently one of them stepped out of the rank and said: + +“You don't know me, Mr. Twichell; but I know your daughter, and that +gives me the privilege of shaking hands with you.” + +Then she put out her hand to me, and said: + +“And I wish to shake hands with you too, Mr. Clemens. You don't remember +me, but you were introduced to me in the arcade in Milan two years and a +half ago by Lieutenant H.” + +What had put that story into my head after all that stretch of time? +Was it just the proximity of that young girl, or was it merely an odd +accident? + + + + + + + +THE INVALID'S STORY + +I seem sixty and married, but these effects are due to my condition and +sufferings, for I am a bachelor, and only forty-one. It will be hard for +you to believe that I, who am now but a shadow, was a hale, hearty man +two short years ago, a man of iron, a very athlete!--yet such is the +simple truth. But stranger still than this fact is the way in which I +lost my health. I lost it through helping to take care of a box of guns +on a two-hundred-mile railway journey one winter's night. It is the +actual truth, and I will tell you about it. + +I belong in Cleveland, Ohio. One winter's night, two years ago, I +reached home just after dark, in a driving snow-storm, and the first +thing I heard when I entered the house was that my dearest boyhood +friend and schoolmate, John B. Hackett, had died the day before, and +that his last utterance had been a desire that I would take his remains +home to his poor old father and mother in Wisconsin. I was greatly +shocked and grieved, but there was no time to waste in emotions; I must +start at once. I took the card, marked “Deacon Levi Hackett, Bethlehem, +Wisconsin,” and hurried off through the whistling storm to the railway +station. Arrived there I found the long white-pine box which had been +described to me; I fastened the card to it with some tacks, saw it put +safely aboard the express car, and then ran into the eating-room +to provide myself with a sandwich and some cigars. When I returned, +presently, there was my coffin-box back again, apparently, and a young +fellow examining around it, with a card in his hands, and some tacks and +a hammer! I was astonished and puzzled. He began to nail on his card, +and I rushed out to the express car, in a good deal of a state of mind, +to ask for an explanation. But no--there was my box, all right, in the +express car; it hadn't been disturbed. [The fact is that without my +suspecting it a prodigious mistake had been made. I was carrying off a +box of guns which that young fellow had come to the station to ship to a +rifle company in Peoria, Illinois, and he had got my corpse!] Just then +the conductor sung out “All aboard,” and I jumped into the express car +and got a comfortable seat on a bale of buckets. The expressman was +there, hard at work,--a plain man of fifty, with a simple, honest, +good-natured face, and a breezy, practical heartiness in his general +style. As the train moved off a stranger skipped into the car and set a +package of peculiarly mature and capable Limburger cheese on one end of +my coffin-box--I mean my box of guns. That is to say, I know now that it +was Limburger cheese, but at that time I never had heard of the article +in my life, and of course was wholly ignorant of its character. Well, +we sped through the wild night, the bitter storm raged on, a cheerless +misery stole over me, my heart went down, down, down! The old expressman +made a brisk remark or two about the tempest and the arctic weather, +slammed his sliding doors to, and bolted them, closed his window down +tight, and then went bustling around, here and there and yonder, setting +things to rights, and all the time contentedly humming “Sweet By and +By,” in a low tone, and flatting a good deal. Presently I began to +detect a most evil and searching odor stealing about on the frozen air. +This depressed my spirits still more, because of course I attributed +it to my poor departed friend. There was something infinitely saddening +about his calling himself to my remembrance in this dumb pathetic way, +so it was hard to keep the tears back. Moreover, it distressed me on +account of the old expressman, who, I was afraid, might notice it. +However, he went humming tranquilly on, and gave no sign; and for this I +was grateful. Grateful, yes, but still uneasy; and soon I began to feel +more and more uneasy every minute, for every minute that went by that +odor thickened up the more, and got to be more and more gamey and hard +to stand. Presently, having got things arranged to his satisfaction, the +expressman got some wood and made up a tremendous fire in his stove. + +This distressed me more than I can tell, for I could not but feel that +it was a mistake. I was sure that the effect would be deleterious upon +my poor departed friend. Thompson--the expressman's name was Thompson, +as I found out in the course of the night--now went poking around his +car, stopping up whatever stray cracks he could find, remarking that +it didn't make any difference what kind of a night it was outside, +he calculated to make us comfortable, anyway. I said nothing, but I +believed he was not choosing the right way. Meantime he was humming to +himself just as before; and meantime, too, the stove was getting hotter +and hotter, and the place closer and closer. I felt myself growing pale +and qualmish, but grieved in silence and said nothing. + +Soon I noticed that the “Sweet By and By” was gradually fading out; next +it ceased altogether, and there was an ominous stillness. After a few +moments Thompson said, + +“Pfew! I reckon it ain't no cinnamon 't I've loaded up thish-yer stove +with!” + +He gasped once or twice, then moved toward the cof--gun-box, stood over +that Limburger cheese part of a moment, then came back and sat down near +me, looking a good deal impressed. After a contemplative pause, he said, +indicating the box with a gesture, + +“Friend of yourn?” + +“Yes,” I said with a sigh. + +“He's pretty ripe, ain't he!” + +Nothing further was said for perhaps a couple of minutes, each being +busy with his own thoughts; then Thompson said, in a low, awed voice, + +“Sometimes it's uncertain whether they're really gone or not,--seem +gone, you know--body warm, joints limber--and so, although you think +they're gone, you don't really know. I've had cases in my car. It's +perfectly awful, becuz you don't know what minute they'll rise up and +look at you!” Then, after a pause, and slightly lifting his elbow toward +the box,--“But he ain't in no trance! No, sir, I go bail for him!” + +We sat some time, in meditative silence, listening to the wind and the +roar of the train; then Thompson said, with a good deal of feeling, + +“Well-a-well, we've all got to go, they ain't no getting around it. Man +that is born of woman is of few days and far between, as Scriptur' says. +Yes, you look at it any way you want to, it's awful solemn and cur'us: +they ain't nobody can get around it; all's got to go--just everybody, as +you may say. One day you're hearty and strong”--here he scrambled to his +feet and broke a pane and stretched his nose out at it a moment or two, +then sat down again while I struggled up and thrust my nose out at the +same place, and this we kept on doing every now and then--“and next day +he's cut down like the grass, and the places which knowed him then knows +him no more forever, as Scriptur' says. Yes'ndeedy, it's awful solemn +and cur'us; but we've all got to go, one time or another; they ain't no +getting around it.” + +There was another long pause; then,-- + +“What did he die of?” + +I said I didn't know. + +“How long has he ben dead?” + +It seemed judicious to enlarge the facts to fit the probabilities; so I +said, + +“Two or three days.” + +But it did no good; for Thompson received it with an injured look which +plainly said, “Two or three years, you mean.” Then he went right along, +placidly ignoring my statement, and gave his views at considerable +length upon the unwisdom of putting off burials too long. Then he +lounged off toward the box, stood a moment, then came back on a sharp +trot and visited the broken pane, observing, + +“'Twould 'a' ben a dum sight better, all around, if they'd started him +along last summer.” + +Thompson sat down and buried his face in his red silk handkerchief, and +began to slowly sway and rock his body like one who is doing his best +to endure the almost unendurable. By this time the fragrance--if you may +call it fragrance--was just about suffocating, as near as you can come +at it. Thompson's face was turning gray; I knew mine hadn't any color +left in it. By and by Thompson rested his forehead in his left hand, +with his elbow on his knee, and sort of waved his red handkerchief +towards the box with his other hand, and said,-- + +“I've carried a many a one of 'em,--some of 'em considerable overdue, +too,--but, lordy, he just lays over 'em all!--and does it easy Cap., +they was heliotrope to HIM!” + +This recognition of my poor friend gratified me, in spite of the sad +circumstances, because it had so much the sound of a compliment. + +Pretty soon it was plain that something had got to be done. I suggested +cigars. Thompson thought it was a good idea. He said, + +“Likely it'll modify him some.” + +We puffed gingerly along for a while, and tried hard to imagine that +things were improved. But it wasn't any use. Before very long, and +without any consultation, both cigars were quietly dropped from our +nerveless fingers at the same moment. Thompson said, with a sigh, + +“No, Cap., it don't modify him worth a cent. Fact is, it makes him +worse, becuz it appears to stir up his ambition. What do you reckon we +better do, now?” + +I was not able to suggest anything; indeed, I had to be swallowing and +swallowing, all the time, and did not like to trust myself to speak. +Thompson fell to maundering, in a desultory and low-spirited way, about +the miserable experiences of this night; and he got to referring to my +poor friend by various titles,--sometimes military ones, sometimes civil +ones; and I noticed that as fast as my poor friend's effectiveness grew, +Thompson promoted him accordingly,--gave him a bigger title. Finally he +said, + +“I've got an idea. Suppos' n we buckle down to it and give the Colonel a +bit of a shove towards t'other end of the car?--about ten foot, say. He +wouldn't have so much influence, then, don't you reckon?” + +I said it was a good scheme. So we took in a good fresh breath at the +broken pane, calculating to hold it till we got through; then we went +there and bent over that deadly cheese and took a grip on the box. +Thompson nodded “All ready,” and then we threw ourselves forward with +all our might; but Thompson slipped, and slumped down with his nose +on the cheese, and his breath got loose. He gagged and gasped, and +floundered up and made a break for the door, pawing the air and saying +hoarsely, “Don't hender me!--gimme the road! I'm a-dying; gimme the +road!” Out on the cold platform I sat down and held his head a while, +and he revived. Presently he said, + +“Do you reckon we started the Gen'rul any?” + +I said no; we hadn't budged him. + +“Well, then, that idea's up the flume. We got to think up something +else. He's suited wher' he is, I reckon; and if that's the way he feels +about it, and has made up his mind that he don't wish to be disturbed, +you bet he's a-going to have his own way in the business. Yes, better +leave him right wher' he is, long as he wants it so; becuz he holds all +the trumps, don't you know, and so it stands to reason that the man that +lays out to alter his plans for him is going to get left.” + +But we couldn't stay out there in that mad storm; we should have frozen +to death. So we went in again and shut the door, and began to suffer +once more and take turns at the break in the window. By and by, as +we were starting away from a station where we had stopped a moment, +Thompson pranced in cheerily and exclaimed, + +“We're all right, now! I reckon we've got the Commodore this time. I +judge I've got the stuff here that'll take the tuck out of him.” + +It was carbolic acid. He had a carboy of it. He sprinkled it all around +everywhere; in fact he drenched everything with it, rifle-box, cheese +and all. Then we sat down, feeling pretty hopeful. But it wasn't for +long. You see the two perfumes began to mix, and then--well, pretty soon +we made a break for the door; and out there Thompson swabbed his face +with his bandanna and said in a kind of disheartened way, + +“It ain't no use. We can't buck agin him. He just utilizes everything we +put up to modify him with, and gives it his own flavor and plays it back +on us. Why, Cap., don't you know, it's as much as a hundred times worse +in there now than it was when he first got a-going. I never did see one +of 'em warm up to his work so, and take such a dumnation interest in it. +No, Sir, I never did, as long as I've ben on the road; and I've carried +a many a one of 'em, as I was telling you.” + +We went in again after we were frozen pretty stiff; but my, we couldn't +stay in, now. So we just waltzed back and forth, freezing, and thawing, +and stifling, by turns. In about an hour we stopped at another station; +and as we left it Thompson came in with a bag, and said,-- + +“Cap., I'm a-going to chance him once more,--just this once; and if we +don't fetch him this time, the thing for us to do, is to just throw up +the sponge and withdraw from the canvass. That's the way I put it up.” + He had brought a lot of chicken feathers, and dried apples, and leaf +tobacco, and rags, and old shoes, and sulphur, and asafoetida, and one +thing or another; and he, piled them on a breadth of sheet iron in the +middle of the floor, and set fire to them. + +When they got well started, I couldn't see, myself, how even the corpse +could stand it. All that went before was just simply poetry to that +smell,--but mind you, the original smell stood up out of it just as +sublime as ever,--fact is, these other smells just seemed to give it a +better hold; and my, how rich it was! I didn't make these reflections +there--there wasn't time--made them on the platform. And breaking for +the platform, Thompson got suffocated and fell; and before I got him +dragged out, which I did by the collar, I was mighty near gone myself. +When we revived, Thompson said dejectedly,-- + +“We got to stay out here, Cap. We got to do it. They ain't no other way. +The Governor wants to travel alone, and he's fixed so he can outvote +us.” + +And presently he added, + +“And don't you know, we're pisoned. It's our last trip, you can make up +your mind to it. Typhoid fever is what's going to come of this. I feel +it acoming right now. Yes, sir, we're elected, just as sure as you're +born.” + +We were taken from the platform an hour later, frozen and insensible, +at the next station, and I went straight off into a virulent fever, and +never knew anything again for three weeks. I found out, then, that I +had spent that awful night with a harmless box of rifles and a lot of +innocent cheese; but the news was too late to save me; imagination had +done its work, and my health was permanently shattered; neither Bermuda +nor any other land can ever bring it back tome. This is my last trip; I +am on my way home to die. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of How Tell a Story and Others +by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOW TELL A STORY AND OTHERS *** + +***** This file should be named 3250-0.txt or 3250-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/5/3250/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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