nd
cats and chickens and pianos, which seemed determined to make the
mornings hideous, when a weary night reporter and compositor wanted
to rest. They went out socially, on occasion, arrayed in considerable
elegance; but their recreations were more likely to consist of private
midnight orgies, after the paper had gone to press--mild dissipations
in whatever they could find to eat at that hour, with a few glasses of
beer, and perhaps a game of billiards or pool in some all-night resort.
A printer by the name of Ward--"Little Ward,"--[L. P. Ward; well known
as an athlete in San Francisco. He lost his mind and fatally shot
himself in 1903.]--they called him--often went with them for these
refreshments. Ward and Gillis were both bantam game-cocks, and sometimes
would stir up trouble for the very joy of combat. Clemens never cared
for that sort of thing and discouraged it, but Ward and Gillis were for
war. "They never assisted each other. If one had offered to assist the
other against some overgrown person, it would have been an affront, and
a battle would have followed between that pair of little friends."--[S.
L. C., 1906.]--Steve Gillis in particular, was fond of incidental
encounters, a characteristic which would prove an important factor
somewhat later in shaping Mark Twain's career. Of course, the more
strenuous nights were not frequent. Their home-going was usually tame
enough and they were glad enough to get there.

Clemens, however, was never quite ready for sleep. Then, as ever,
he would prop himself up in bed, light his pipe, and lose himself in
English or French history until sleep conquered. His room-mate did not
approve of this habit; it interfered with his own rest, and with his
fiendish tendency to mischief he found reprisal in his own fashion.
Knowing his companion's highly organized nervous system he devised means
of torture which would induce him to put out the light. Once he tied a
nail to a string; an arrangement which he kept on the floor behind the
bed. Pretending to be asleep, he would hold the end of the string, and
lift it gently up and down, making a slight ticking sound on the floor,
maddening to a nervous man. Clemens would listen a moment and say:

"What in the nation is that noise"

Gillis's pretended sleep and the ticking would continue.

Clemens would sit up in bed, fling aside his book, and swear violently.

"Steve, what is that d--d noise?" he would say.

Steve would pretend to rouse