Mark Twain, A Biography 1866-1875 | Page 5

$1,200, but
with his usual business insight, which was never foresight, he had made
an arrangement by which, after paying bills and dividing with his

manager, he had only about one-third of, this sum left. Still, even this
was prosperity and triumph. He had acquired a new and lucrative
profession at a bound. The papers lauded him as the "most piquant and
humorous writer and lecturer on the Coast since the days of the
lamented John Phoenix." He felt that he was on the highroad at last.
Denis McCarthy, late of the Enterprise, was in San Francisco, and was
willing to become his manager. Denis was capable and honest, and
Clemens was fond of him. They planned a tour of the near-by towns,
beginning with Sacramento, extending it later even to the mining
camps, such as Red Dog and Grass Valley; also across into Nevada,
with engagements at Carson City, Virginia, and Gold Hill. It was an
exultant and hilarious excursion--that first lecture tour made by Denis
McCarthy and Mark Twain. Success traveled with them everywhere,
whether the lecturer looked across the footlights of some pretentious
"opera-house" or between the two tallow candles of some camp
"academy." Whatever the building, it was packed, and the returns were
maximum.
Those who remember him as a lecturer in that long-ago time say that
his delivery was more quaint, his drawl more exaggerated, even than in
later life; that his appearance and movements on the stage were natural,
rather than graceful; that his manuscript, which he carried under his
arm, looked like a ruffled hen. It was, in fact, originally written on
sheets of manila paper, in large characters, so that it could be read
easily by dim light, and it was doubtless often disordered.
There was plenty of amusing experience on this tour. At one place,
when the lecture was over, an old man came to him and said:
"Be them your natural tones of eloquence?"
At Grass Valley there was a rival show, consisting of a lady tight-rope
walker and her husband. It was a small place, and the tight-rope
attraction seemed likely to fail. The lady's husband had formerly been a
compositor on the Enterprise, so that he felt there was a bond of
brotherhood between him and Mark Twain.
"Look here," he said. "Let's combine our shows. I'll let my wife do the
tight-rope act outside and draw a crowd, and you go inside and lecture."
The arrangement was not made.
Following custom, the lecturer at first thought it necessary to be
introduced, and at each place McCarthy had to skirmish around and

find the proper person. At Red Dog, on the Stanislaus, the man selected
failed to appear, and Denis had to provide another on short notice. He
went down into the audience and captured an old fellow, who ducked
and dodged but could not escape. Denis led him to the stage, a good
deal frightened.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "this is the celebrated Mark Twain
from the celebrated city of San Francisco, with his celebrated lecture
about the celebrated Sandwich Islands."
That was as far as he could go; but it was far enough. Mark Twain
never had a better introduction. The audience was in a shouting humor
from the start.
Clemens himself used to tell of an introduction at another camp, where
his sponsor said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, I know only two things about this man: the first
is that he's never been in jail, and the second is I don't know why."
But this is probably apocryphal; there is too much "Mark Twain" in it.
When he reached Virginia, Goodman said to him:
"Sam, you do not need anybody to introduce you. There's a piano on
the stage in the theater. Have it brought out in sight, and when the
curtain rises you be seated at the piano, playing and singing that song
of yours, 'I Had an Old Horse Whose Name Was Methusalem,' and
don't seem to notice that the curtain is up at first; then be surprised
when you suddenly find out that it is up, and begin talking, without any
further preliminaries."
This proved good advice, and the lecture, thus opened, started off with
general hilarity and applause.

LV
HIGHWAY ROBBERY
His Nevada, lectures were bound to be immensely successful. The
people regarded him as their property over there, and at Carson and
Virginia the houses overflowed. At Virginia especially his friends
urged and begged him to repeat the entertainment, but he resolutely
declined.
"I have only one lecture yet," he said. "I cannot bring myself to give it
twice in the same town."
But that irresponsible imp, Steve Gillis, who was again in Virginia,

conceived a plan which would make it not only necessary for him to
lecture again, but would supply