How to Tell a Story and other Essays, 1899 | Page 8

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;