I met him first three summers ago when he arrived from Baltimore with a
letter of introduction from a mutual American friend. He was a tall thin
clean-shaven man, a typical American of the inquiring rather than
commanding type--and not a millionaire, not indeed rich at all, and
rather nervous among waiters and wine lists: preferring a boarding-house
in Bayswater to a caravanserai (as the newspaper men always call the big
hotels). He had culture and desired more, and one way of getting it (one
way, I mean, of making sure that it should be gotten) was to talk with
every one he met. This I believe is an American custom.
Anyway, he arrived with his letter of introduction, and I did what I
could for him--asked him to lunch, told him about picture galleries,
adjured him not to see this play and that, and mentioned a few new
books. Our surest common ground being American men of letters, we
discussed them. We agreed that the early death of FRANK NORRIS was a
blow; that GEORGE W. CABLE had style; that JOHN FOX, Junior, could tell
a good story, but OWEN WISTER a better. My friend interested me greatly
by stating that he had been on intimate terms with that great man, MARK
TWAIN, and wondered if I had ever heard the story (which he used to tell
against himself) of the visitor to his house who, after a very
delightful stay, during which the humorist had been at the top of his
form, asked his daughter if her father was always like that? "Only when
we have company," she replied.
The next year my American friend turned up again, sending a letter in
advance to say that he would be at his old address in Bayswater at a
certain date, and again I wrote asking him to lunch with me, as before.
He was exactly the same, even to his clothes, and we talked of American
writers in what I remembered to be the identical terms of the previous
year. This is one of the disadvantages of annual meetings; there is no
advance. The familiar ground included our decision, reinforced, that
Mrs. WHARTON was a swell, but rather on the bitter side; that it was a
pity that MARY WILKINS had given up writing; that JOHN KENDRICK BANGS'
name, at any rate, was funny; that AMBROSE BIERCE was a man of genius,
and that OLIVER HERFORD'S continued residence in New York was a loss to
England.
"_À propos_ of humorists," said my friend, "I wonder if you have heard
that story of MARK TWAIN which he often told against himself. A visitor
to his house who had been greatly entertained by a constant flow of wit
and satire asked MARK TWAIN'S daughter if he was always in the same good
spirits. 'Only when we have company,'" she said.
In August of last year I was doomed to London owing to the frivolous
holiday proclivities of certain fellow-workers, and again my Baltimore
migrant was here, and again we met for our single _tête-à-tête_. He
looked, he said, on a year as wasted, unless a part of it was spent in
London and Paris. He was exactly as he had been; his voice had the same
slow mirthlessness and it uttered the same flat definitive comments. He
could not be surprised or shocked or amused. He had taken the world's
measure and was now chiefly occupied in adding to his collection of fine
men and lovely-minded women. I made an effort to get the conversation to
other than American literary personages, but it was useless. To discuss
Mr. ROOSEVELT he was unwilling. The name of HEARST--I mean Mr.
HEARST--touched no live wire, as it does with a few of his countrymen.
He had merely heard of Mr. BRISBANE, but had no information. Mr. WILSON
was doing well, he thought, on the whole. Reaching books at last, we
agreed again that it was a pity that Mr. JAMES LANE ALLEN wrote so
little nowadays and that Mr. HOWELLS had become so silent. Mr. HOWELLS,
it seemed, had felt the death of his old friend, Mr. CLEMENS--MARK
TWAIN--very deeply. Had I ever heard, he wondered, that story of MARK
TWAIN about a reply made to one of his visitors by his daughter?
"Yes, I have," I said.
"The visitor," he went on, "had asked her if her father was always in
the jovial and witty vein in which he had been during his--the
visitor's--stay."
"Yes, I know," I said.
"MARK TWAIN'S daughter," he continued, "replied that he was always like
that--'when they had company.'"
He looked remorselessly at me for his reward of laughter. Since he was
my guest he got it, but----
And then last week he arrived again, on his 1914 trip, and he is here
now, or perhaps he is in Paris. In Europe, at any rate. He told me once
more that across the Atlantic Mr. HENRY JAMES is no longer thought of as
an American; that Mr. JACK LONDON, it seems, is becoming one of the most
popular of writers; that ELLA WHEELER WILCOX sells probably more copies
of her poetry than any English writer sells stories. He had had the
pleasure of meeting Sir ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE in New York recently, but
when Mr. ARNOLD BENNETT was there he missed him, to his great regret.
America was still feeling the loss of MARK TWAIN. By the way, that was a
good story which MARK TWAIN used to tell against himself. A visitor----
But this time I was too clever for him. I gave a preconcerted signal to
a waiter, who hurried up to tell me I was wanted on the telephone. When
I returned it was to say good-bye.
And now I am safe till next summer; but last evening I met a lady who
had been taken in to dinner by the American a few days ago. "A little
bit pompous, perhaps," she said, "but he told me such a delightful story
about MARK TWAIN that I should like to meet him again."
* * * * *
Illustration: _Passenger._ "IT'S CURIOUS HOW THESE SEAGULLS FOLLOW A
STEAMER. DO THEY GO FAR?"
_Boatman._ "AY, SOMETIMES, BUT THEY'LL NOT FOLLOW HER FAR; SHE'S AN
ABERDEEN BOAT."
* * * * *
The Latest from the Schoolroom.
_Q._ (_put orally_). "Where do the following races live? Berbers,
Hottentots....
_A._ Barbers are to be found in large towns, but they are also found
in some small places. They are the natives of the country, and their
profession is to shave different men, for which they are paid. The
Wottentots are animals that are found in the forests of England."
* * * * *
Illustration: _Seventy-miles-an-hour_ (_as he hurtles past
sixty-miles-an-hour_). "ARE YOU AWARE, SIR, THAT YOU _SLOW-MOVING_
VEHICLES OUGHT TO KEEP CLOSE TO THE KERB?"
* * * * *