The Autobiography of Mark Twain by Mark Twain (good book recommendations .TXT) 📕

locked all the way through, while the other man states the case. On this occasion I should have been grateful for some slight indication from him, during my long explanation, which might indicate that I was making at least some kind of an impression upon him, favorable or unfavorable. But he kept my heart on the strain all the way through, and I never could catch any hint of what was passing through his mind. But at the finish he spoke out with that robust decision which was a part of his character and said:

“Mr. Clemens, you’ve got as clear a business head on your shoulders as I have come in contact with for years. What are you an author for? You ought to be a business man.”

I knew better, but it was not diplomatic to say so, and I didn’t. Then he said:

“All you boys need is my note for fifty thousand dollars, at three months, handed in at the bank, and with that support you will not need the money. If it shall be necessary to extend the note, tell Mr. Arnot it will be extended. The business is all right. Go ahead with it and have no fears. It is my opinion that this note will come back to me without your having extracted a dollar from it, at the end of the three months.”

It happened just as he had said. Old Mr. Arnot, the Scotch banker, a very rich and very careful man and lifelong friend of Mr. Langdon, watched the young firm and advised it out of his rich store of commercial wisdom, and at the end of the three months the firm was an established and growing concern, and the note was sent back to Mr. Sage without our having needed to extract anything from it. It was a small piece of paper, insignificant in its dimensions, insignificant in the sum which it represented, but formidable was its influence, and formidable was its power, because of the man who stood behind it.

The Sages and the Twichells were very intimate. One or two years later, Mr. Sage came to Hartford on a visit to Joe, and as soon as he had gone away Twichell rushed over to our house, eager to tell me something; something which had astonished him, and which he believed would astonish me. He said:

“Why, Mark, you know, Mr. Sage, one of the best business men in America, says that you have quite extraordinary business talents.”

Again I didn’t deny it. I would not have had that superstition dissipated for anything. It supplied a long-felt want. We are always more anxious to be distinguished for a talent which we do not possess than to be praised for the fifteen which we do possess.

Monday, February 26, 1906

Susy comes to New York with her mother and father⁠—Aunt Clara visits them at the Everett House⁠—Aunt Clara’s ill luck with horses⁠—The omnibus incident in Germany⁠—Aunt Clara now ill at Hoffman House, result of horseback accident thirty years ago⁠—Mr. Clemens takes Susy to see General Grant⁠—Mr. Clement’s account of his talk with General Grant⁠—Mr. Clemens gives his first reading in New York⁠—also tells about one in Boston⁠—Memorial to Mr. Longfellow, and one in Washington.

From Susy’s Biography

Papa made arrangements to read at Vassar College the 1st of May, and I went with him. We went by way of New York City. Mamma went with us to New York and stayed two days to do some shopping. We started Tuesday, at ½ past two o’clock in the afternoon, and reached New York about ¼ past six. Papa went right up to General Grants from the station and mamma and I went to the Everett House. Aunt Clara came to supper with us up in our room.

This is the same Aunt Clara who has already been mentioned several times. She had been my wife’s playmate and schoolmate from the earliest times, and she was about my wife’s age, or two or three years younger⁠—mentally, morally, spiritually, and in all ways, a superior and lovable personality.

Persons who think there is no such thing as luck⁠—good or bad⁠—are entitled to their opinion. Clara Spaulding had the average human being’s luck in all things save one; she was subject to ill luck with horses. It pursued her like a disease. Every now and then a horse threw her. Every now and then carriage horses ran away with her. At intervals omnibus horses ran away with her. Usually there was but one person hurt, and she was selected for that function. In Germany once our little family started from the inn (in Worms, I think it was) to go to the station. The vehicle of transportation was a great long omnibus drawn by a battery of four great horses. Every seat in the bus was occupied, and the aggregate of us amounted to a good two dozen persons, possibly one or two more. I said playfully to Clara Spaulding: “I think you ought to walk to the station. It isn’t right for you to imperil the lives of such a crowd of inoffensive people as this.” When we had gone a quarter of a mile and were briskly approaching a stone bridge which had no protecting railings, the battery broke and began to run. Outside we saw the long reins dragging along the ground and a young peasant racing after them and occasionally making a grab for them. Presently he achieved success, and none too soon, for the bus had already entered upon the bridge when he stopped the team. The two dozen lives were saved. Nobody offered to take up a collection, but I suggested to our friend and excursion comrade⁠—American consul at a German city⁠—that we get out and tip that young peasant. The consul said, with an enthusiasm native to his character: “Stay right where you are. Leave me to attend to that. His fine deed shall not go unrewarded.” He jumped out and arranged the matter, and we continued our journey. Afterward I asked him what he gave