. Chauncey Depew was on the train and they met in the
dining-car--the last time, I think, they ever saw each other. He was
tired when we reached the Belvedere Hotel in Baltimore and did not wish
to see the newspaper men. It happened that the reporters had a special
purpose in coming just at this time, for it had suddenly developed
that in his Shakespeare book, through an oversight, due to haste in
publication, full credit had not been given to Mr. Greenwood for the
long extracts quoted from his work. The sensational head-lines in a
morning paper, "Is Mark Twain a Plagiarist?" had naturally prompted the
newspaper men to see what he would have to say on the subject. It was a
simple matter, easily explained, and Clemens himself was less disturbed
about it than anybody. He felt no sense of guilt, he said; and the fact
that he had been stealing and caught at it would give Mr. Greenwood's
book far more advertising than if he had given him the full credit which
he had intended. He found a good deal of amusement in the situation,
his only worry being that Clara and Jean would see the paper and be
troubled.

He had taken off his clothes and was lying down, reading. After a little
he got up and began walking up and down the room. Presently he stopped
and, facing me, placed his hand upon his breast. He said:

"I think I must have caught a little cold yesterday on that Fifth Avenue
stage. I have a curious pain in my breast."

I suggested that he lie down again and I would fill his hot-water bag.
The pain passed away presently, and he seemed to be dozing. I stepped
into the next room and busied myself with some writing. By and by I
heard him stirring again and went in where he was. He was walking
up and down and began talking of some recent ethnological
discoveries--something relating to prehistoric man.

"What a fine boy that prehistoric man must have been," he said--"the
very first one! Think of the gaudy style of him, how he must have lorded
it over those other creatures, walking on his hind legs, waving his
arms, practising and getting ready for the pulpit."

The fancy amused him, but presently he paused in his walk and again put
his hand on his breast, saying:

"That pain has come back. It's a curious, sickening, deadly kind of
pain. I never had anything just like it."

It seemed to me that his face had become rather gray. I said:

"Where is it, exactly, Mr. Clemens?"

He laid his hand in the center of his breast and