Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories
    The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories
    The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories
    Ebook318 pages8 hours

    The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories

    By Mark Twain

    4/5

    ()

    Switch to audiobook
    Read preview

    About this ebook

    "The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories" is a collection of Mark Twain's most loved short stories. In this collection you will find the following tales: The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, The Facts Concerning The Recent Carnival Of Crime In Connecticut, The Stolen White Elephant, Luck, The £1,000,000 Bank Note, The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg, The Five Boons Of Life, Was It Heaven? Or Hell?, and The Mysterious Stranger.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDigireads.com Publishing
    Release dateJan 1, 2010
    ISBN9781596748712
    Author

    Mark Twain

    Samuel Langhorne Clemens was born in Missouri in 1835, the son of a lawyer. Early in his childhood, the family moved to Hannibal, Missouri – a town which would provide the inspiration for St Petersburg in Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. After a period spent as a travelling printer, Clemens became a river pilot on the Mississippi: a time he would look back upon as his happiest. When he turned to writing in his thirties, he adopted the pseudonym Mark Twain ('Mark Twain' is the cry of a Mississippi boatman taking depth measurements, and means 'two fathoms'), and a number of highly successful publications followed, including The Prince and the Pauper (1882), Huckleberry Finn (1884) and A Connecticut Yankee (1889). His later life, however, was marked by personal tragedy and sadness, as well as financial difficulty. In 1894, several businesses in which he had invested failed, and he was declared bankrupt. Over the next fifteen years – during which he managed to regain some measure of financial independence – he saw the deaths of two of his beloved daughters, and his wife. Increasingly bitter and depressed, Twain died in 1910, aged seventy-five.

    Read more from Mark Twain

    Related to The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories

    Related ebooks

    Classics For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Gem

      Apr 27, 2020

      Gem
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Black Dog Of Finca Vigia

      Jul 10, 2020

      The Black Dog Of Finca Vigia
      8 min read

    • Article

      A Literary Zoo

      Dec 9, 2021

      A Literary Zoo
      4 min read

    • Article

      HUNTING With The Ellements…

      Sep 13, 2021

      HUNTING With The Ellements…
      19 min read

    • Article

      Out to Pasture

      Nov 14, 2019

      Out to Pasture
      6 min read

    • Article

      Walking On TheWild Side…

      Jul 17, 2023

      Walking On TheWild Side…
      3 min read

    • Article

      LeTtErBoCkS

      Jan 4, 2024

      IN THE interests of road safety, I think it would be a good idea for the government to introduce a law that requires all drivers to have their hazard lights on at all times. Except when there are no immediate hazards. Jack Spratt, Stourbridge RADIO 4

      14 min read

    • Article

      Hello, Grim Reaper

      Dec 15, 2021

      She was a babe. A fully paid-up, card-carrying babe. There was absolutely no doubt about it, and she was heading straight for me. She was almost sprinting towards me across the recently reimagined lobby of Claridge’s. She looked up, her scarlet-anoin

      3 min read

    • Article

      Pachydermia

      Jul 4, 2020

      Pachydermia
      5 min read

    • Article

      Fieldsports In Far-flung Places

      May 16, 2019

      1871 I will recollect an amusing incident while bear stalking. Two young officers engaged a Cashmeree to direct them to the nearest possible situation where a black bear could be discovered. Bruin was found accordingly on the topmost branch of a tall

      16 min read

    • Article

      Ghoulies and Ghosties

      Oct 1, 2022

      Ghoulies and Ghosties
      7 min read

    • Article

      The Railroad Dog

      Aug 3, 2021

      The Railroad Dog
      4 min read

    • Article

      Scoundrel’s Lair

      Jul 9, 2023

      Scoundrel’s Lair
      5 min read

    • Article

      Commonplace Book

      Jun 1, 2023

      Soft, to your places, animals, Your legendary duty calls. —Thomas Kinsella, Another September, 1958 —Go—says he, one day at dinner, to an overgrown [fly] which had buzz'd about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time,— and which, after in

      3 min read

    • Article

      The Last Friend on Earth

      May 4, 2023

      It was as if Doreen Saunders had been waiting for me, passing the time until my arrival. She might as well have been sitting in a rocking chair, knitting needles clicking, jam tarts cooling on the side, the door wide open, waiting for the next visito

      6 min read

    • Article

      “My Dad Saw Shuck In The Seventies”

      Nov 4, 2021

      Iinvestigate reports of big cats in Suffolk; I’ve received over 100 of these over the past seven years. But while seeking testimony concerning Suffolk big cat sightings, a surprising number of unsolicited accounts of encounters with the phantom East

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Modest Man

      Oct 17, 2019

      The Modest Man
      5 min read

    • Article

      Forgive Us Our Trespasses

      Jun 3, 2021

      Forgive Us Our Trespasses
      4 min read

    • Article

      Year Of The Goat

      Mar 18, 2021

      Year Of The Goat
      3 min read

    • Article

      HERNAN BAS New and Recent Work

      Dec 15, 2018

      HERNAN BAS New and Recent Work
      6 min read

    • Article

      Reader's Letter

      May 31, 2023

      SIR: I was astonished to read (Spring issue) that Hunter Davies believes he may be the only person left in the UK who has milk delivered in glass bottles every morning. Oop ’ere in t’north, we have milk delivered in this way. We also have Ringtons Te

      6 min read

    • Article

      Pack Mentality

      Sep 19, 2022

      Pack Mentality
      5 min read

    • Article

      Books

      Apr 3, 2024

      Books
      16 min read

    • Article

      Flights Of Fantasy

      Dec 9, 2020

      Flights Of Fantasy
      5 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories

    4/5

    46 ratings4 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 4/5
      Many interesting ideas come out of The Mysterious Stranger, but not enough to make it a favorite. It jumps around and seems like many ideas were written down, but never refined. If Twain made it to heaven after writing this, it would be one to ask him about this when I get there.
    • 5/5
      In the same vein as Letters from the Earth and Little Bessie, this book reveals Twain's cynical assessment of the human condition, it's frailty and superstitious nature. It is an example of his wicked humor at it's best. Even so, the ending came as quite a surprise. I wonder if his statements in the closing chapter reflected his true beliefs or were just added for the effect they will undoubtedly produce in his readers.
    • 4/5
      For readers who know Twain only through his often quoted witticisms and works such as The Adventures of Tom Sawyer many of the stories in this book will come as a bit of a shock. The volume begins with the folksy "Famous Jumping Frog" and ends with the surreal novella The Mysterious Stranger. Between the writing of the two, Twain would suffer failure and losses which twisted his already cynical view of mankind into a nearly warped vision. Along the way he seemed to lose much of his good-humored empathy for man and his weaknesses. I do not much share the author's view on people or life, but I have over the years found his work to be thought-provoking. In the case of the very, very dark Stranger, as weird as it is, as twisted as I find his assessment of humankind, it is one of my favorite of his works. One I have re-read several times over the years. As for the other stories in this collection, they were, for me, a mixed bag. Too often they veer too closely to the didactic for artistic effectiveness, a complaint that might be made of Stranger, but it's utter oddness and darkness is haunting. "The Man Who Corrupted Hadleyburg though leant too much towards a preachiness to really catch my imagination. However, I found the premise intriguing. "The Carnival of Crime..." again preachy, but amusing. The story of the wishes; Lord save me from becoming that jaded about life as I get older.
    • 3/5
      I feel this book should have bore a bright red label warning Twain lovers off of it. Although the first half of the book is made up of familiar Twain humor, candor and humility, it is the title story in the second half that is a sad, sudden departure. Although written brilliantly and captivatingly, the story of three boys acquaintance of Satan's "nephew" reveals a much darker side of Twain - one I don't think the casual Twain fan is aware of. I certainly wasn't and now I find that my mental profile of him has changed. I wasn’t prepared. --SA Justus

    Book preview

    The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories - Mark Twain

    THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER AND OTHER STORIES

    BY MARK TWAIN

    The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories

    By Mark Twain

    Print ISBN 13: 978-1-4209-3029-0

    Ebook ISBN 13: 978-1-59674-871-2

    This edition copyright © 2011

    Please visit www.digireads.com

    CONTENTS

    THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY

    THE FACTS CONCERNING THE RECENT CARNIVAL OF CRIME IN CONNECTICUT

    THE STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT

    LUCK

    THE £1,000,000 BANK-NOTE

    THE MAN THAT CORRUPTED HADLEYBURG

    THE FIVE BOONS OF LIFE

    WAS IT HEAVEN? OR HELL?

    CHAPTER I

    CHAPTER II

    CHAPTER III

    CHAPTER IV

    CHAPTER V

    CHAPTER VI

    CHAPTER VII

    CHAPTER VIII

    CHAPTER IX

    CHAPTER X

    THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER

    CHAPTER I

    CHAPTER II

    CHAPTER III

    CHAPTER IV

    CHAPTER V

    CHAPTER VI

    CHAPTER VII

    CHAPTER VIII

    CHAPTER IX

    CHAPTER X

    CHAPTER XI

    THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY

    In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured that, if I asked old Wheeler about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me nearly to death with some infernal reminiscence of him as long and tedious as it should be useless to me. If that was the design, it certainly succeeded.

    I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room stove of the old, dilapidated tavern in the ancient mining camp of Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up and gave me good-day. I told him a friend of mine had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of Angel's Camp. I added that, if Mr. Wheeler could tell me any thing about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to him.

    Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his chair, and then sat me down and reeled off the monotonous narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned the initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly that, so far from his imagining that there was any thing ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse. To me, the spectacle of a man drifting serenely along through such a queer yarn without ever smiling, was exquisitely absurd. As I said before, I asked him to tell me what he knew of Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and he replied as follows. I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once:

    There was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49 or may be it was the spring of '50 I don't recollect exactly, somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big flume wasn't finished when he first came to the camp; but any way, he was the curiousest man about always betting on any thing that turned up you ever see, if he could get any body to bet on the other side; and if he couldn't, he'd change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit him any way just so's he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn't be no solit'ry thing mentioned but that feller'd offer to bet on it, and -take any side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a horse-race, you'd find him flush, or you'd find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reg'lar, to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about here, and so he was, too, and a good man. If he even seen a straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him he would bet on any thing the dangdest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they warn't going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley asked how she was, and he said she was considerable better thank the Lord for his inf'nit mercy and coming on so smart that, with the blessing of Providence, she'd get well yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, Well, I'll risk two- and-a-half that she don't, any way.

    Thish-yer Smiley had a mare the boys called her the fifteen- minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because, of course, she was faster than that and he used to win money on that horse, for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or three hundred yards start, and then pass her under way; but always at the fag-end of the race she'd get excited and desperate- like, and come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side amongst the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust, and raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.

    And he had a little small bull pup, that to look at him you'd think he wan't worth a cent, but to set around and look ornery, and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him, he was a different dog; his underjaw'd begin to stick out like the fo-castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover, and shine savage like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him, and bully- rag him, and bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson which was the name of the pup Andrew Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else and the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze on it not chew, you understand, but only jest grip and hang on till they thronged up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because they'd been sawed off by a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet bolt, he saw in a minute how he'd been imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peered surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He give Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs for him to take bolt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him, and he had genius I know it, because he hadn't had no opportunities to speak of, and it don't stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he could under them circumstances, if he hadn't no talent. It always makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n, and the way it turned out.

    Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and tom- cats, and all of them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'klated to edercate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut see him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of catching flies, and kept him in practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every time as far as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do most any thing and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor Dan'l Webster was the name of the frog and sing out, Flies, Dan'l, flies! and quicker'n you could wink, he'd spring straight up, and snake a fly off'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor again as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doin' any more'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straightforward as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywheres, all said he laid over any frog that ever they see.

    Well, Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him down town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller a stranger in the camp, he was come across him with his box, and says:

    What might it be that you've got in the box?

    And Smiley says, sorter indifferent like, It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, may be, but it an't it's only just a frog.

    And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, H'm so 'tis. Well, what's he good for?

    Well, Smiley says, easy and careless, He's good enough for one thing, I should judge he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county.

    The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, Well, I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog.

    May be you don't, Smiley says. May be you understand frogs, and may be you don't understand 'em; may be you've had experience, and may be you an't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got my opinion, and I'll risk forty dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county.

    And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I an't got no frog; but if I had a frog, I'd bet you.

    And then Smiley says, That's all right that's all right if you'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog. And so the feller took the box, and put up his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set down to wait.

    So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a tea- spoon and filled him full of quail shot filled him pretty near up to his chin and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says:

    Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore- paws just even with Dan'l, and I'll give the word. Then he says, One two three jump! and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders so like a Frenchman, but it wan't no use he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course.

    The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulders this way at Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, Well, I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog.

    Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, I do wonder what in the nation that frog throw'd off for I wonder if there an't something the matter with him he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow. And he ketched Dan'l by the nap of the neck, and lifted him up and says, Why, blame my cats, if he don't weigh five pound! and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketchd him. And-

    [Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to see what was wanted.] And turning to me as he moved away, he said: Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy I an't going to be gone a second.

    But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I started away.

    At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he button- holed me and recommenced:

    Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yeller one-eyed cow that didn't have no tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and

    Oh! hang Smiley and his afflicted cow! I muttered, good-naturedly, and bidding the old gentleman good-day, I departed.

    THE FACTS CONCERNING THE RECENT CARNIVAL OF CRIME IN CONNECTICUT

    I was feeling blithe, almost jocund. I put a match to my cigar, and just then the morning's mail was handed in. The first superscription I glanced at was in a handwriting that sent a thrill of pleasure through and through me. It was Aunt Mary's; and she was the person I loved and honored most in all the world, outside of my own household. She had been my boyhood's idol; maturity, which is fatal to so many enchantments, had not been able to dislodge her from her pedestal; no, it had only justified her right to be there, and placed her dethronement permanently among the impossibilities. To show how strong her influence over me was, I will observe that long after everybody else's do-stop-smoking had ceased to affect me in the slightest degree, Aunt Mary could still stir my torpid conscience into faint signs of life when she touched upon the matter. But all things have their limit in this world. A happy day came at last, when even Aunt Mary's words could no longer move me. I was not merely glad to see that day arrive; I was more than glad—I was grateful; for when its sun had set, the one alloy that was able to mar my enjoyment of my aunt's society was gone. The remainder of her stay with us that winter was in every way a delight. Of course she pleaded with me just as earnestly as ever, after that blessed day, to quit my pernicious habit, but to no purpose whatever; the moment she opened the subject I at once became calmly, peacefully, contentedly indifferent—absolutely, adamantinely indifferent. Consequently the closing weeks of that memorable visit melted away as pleasantly as a dream, they were so freighted for me with tranquil satisfaction. I could not have enjoyed my pet vice more if my gentle tormentor had been a smoker herself, and an advocate of the practice. Well, the sight of her handwriting reminded me that I way getting very hungry to see her again. I easily guessed what I should find in her letter. I opened it. Good! just as I expected; she was coming! Coming this very day, too, and by the morning train; I might expect her any moment.

    I said to myself, I am thoroughly happy and content now. If my most pitiless enemy could appear before me at this moment, I would freely right any wrong I may have done him.

    Straightway the door opened, and a shriveled, shabby dwarf entered. He was not more than two feet high. He seemed to be about forty years old. Every feature and every inch of him was a trifle out of shape; and so, while one could not put his finger upon any particular part and say, This is a conspicuous deformity, the spectator perceived that this little person was a deformity as a whole—a vague, general, evenly blended, nicely adjusted deformity. There was a fox-like cunning in the face and the sharp little eyes, and also alertness and malice. And yet, this vile bit of human rubbish seemed to bear a sort of remote and ill-defined resemblance to me! It was dully perceptible in the mean form, the countenance, and even the clothes, gestures, manner, and attitudes of the creature. He was a farfetched, dim suggestion of a burlesque upon me, a caricature of me in little. One thing about him struck me forcibly and most unpleasantly: he was covered all over with a fuzzy, greenish mold, such as one sometimes sees upon mildewed bread. The sight of it was nauseating.

    He stepped along with a chipper air, and flung himself into a doll's chair in a very free-and-easy way, without waiting to be asked. He tossed his hat into the waste-basket. He picked up my old chalk pipe from the floor, gave the stem a wipe or two on his knee, filled the bowl from the tobacco-box at his side, and said to me in a tone of pert command:

    Gimme a match!

    I blushed to the roots of my hair; partly with indignation, but mainly because it somehow seemed to me that this whole performance was very like an exaggeration of conduct which I myself had sometimes been guilty of in my intercourse with familiar friends—but never, never with strangers, I observed to myself. I wanted to kick the pygmy into the fire, but some incomprehensible sense of being legally and legitimately under his authority forced me to obey his order. He applied the match to the pipe, took a contemplative whiff or two, and remarked, in an irritatingly familiar way:

    Seems to me it's devilish odd weather for this time of year.

    I flushed again, and in anger and humiliation as before; for the language was hardly an exaggeration of some that I have uttered in my day, and moreover was delivered in a tone of voice and with an exasperating drawl that had the seeming of a deliberate travesty of my style. Now there is nothing I am quite so sensitive about as a mocking imitation of my drawling infirmity of speech. I spoke up sharply and said:

    Look here, you miserable ash-cat! you will have to give a little more attention to your manners, or I will throw you out of the window!

    The manikin smiled a smile of malicious content and security, puffed a whiff of smoke contemptuously toward me, and said, with a still more elaborate drawl:

    Come—go gently now; don't put on too many airs with your betters.

    This cool snub rasped me all over, but it seemed to subjugate me, too, for a moment. The pygmy contemplated me awhile with his weasel eyes, and then said, in a peculiarly sneering way:

    You turned a tramp away from your door this morning.

    I said crustily:

    Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn't. How do you know?

    Well, I know. It isn't any matter how I know.

    Very well. Suppose I did turn a tramp away from the door—what of it?

    Oh, nothing; nothing in particular. Only you lied to him.

    I didn't! That is, I—

    Yes, but you did; you lied to him.

    I felt a guilty pang—in truth, I had felt it forty times before that tramp had traveled a block from my door—but still I resolved to make a show of feeling slandered; so I said:

    This is a baseless impertinence. I said to the tramp—

    There—wait. You were about to lie again. I know what you said to him. You said the cook was gone down-town and there was nothing left from breakfast. Two lies. You knew the cook was behind the door, and plenty of provisions behind her.

    This astonishing accuracy silenced me; and it filled me with wondering speculations, too, as to how this cub could have got his information. Of course he could have culled the conversation from the tramp, but by what sort of magic had he contrived to find out about the concealed cook? Now the dwarf spoke again:

    It was rather pitiful, rather small, in you to refuse to read that poor young woman's manuscript the other day, and give her an opinion as to its literary value; and she had come so far, too, and so hopefully. Now wasn't it?

    I felt like a cur! And I had felt so every time the thing had recurred to my mind, I may as well confess. I flushed hotly and said:

    Look here, have you nothing better to do than prowl around prying into other people's business?  Did that girl tell you that?

    Never mind whether she did or not. The main thing is, you did that contemptible thing. And you felt ashamed of it afterward. Aha! you feel ashamed of it now!

    This was a sort of devilish glee. With fiery earnestness I responded:

    I told that girl, in the kindest, gentlest way, that I could not consent to deliver judgment upon any one's manuscript, because an individual's verdict was worthless. It might underrate a work of high merit and lose it to the world, or it might overrate a trashy production and so open the way for its infliction upon the world: I said that the great public was the only tribunal competent to sit in judgment upon a literary effort, and therefore it must be best to lay it before that tribunal in the outset, since in the end it must stand or fall by that mighty court's decision anyway.

    Yes, you said all that. So you did, you juggling, small-souled shuffler! And yet when the happy hopefulness faded out of that poor girl's face, when you saw her furtively slip beneath her shawl the scroll she had so patiently and honestly scribbled at—so ashamed of her darling now, so proud of it before—when you saw the gladness go out of her eyes and the tears come there, when she crept away so humbly who had come so—

    Oh, peace! peace! peace! Blister your merciless tongue, haven't all these thoughts tortured me enough without your coming here to fetch them back again!

    Remorse! remorse! It seemed to me that it would eat the very heart out of me! And yet that small fiend only sat there leering at me with joy and contempt, and placidly chuckling. Presently he began to speak again. Every sentence was an accusation, and every accusation a truth. Every clause was freighted with sarcasm and derision, every slow-dropping word burned like vitriol. The dwarf reminded me of times when I had flown at my children in anger and punished them for faults which a little inquiry would have taught me that others, and not they, had committed. He reminded me of how I had disloyally allowed old

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1