retended to work. Goodman read page after
page, critically, and was presently absorbed in it. Clemens watched him
furtively, till he could stand it no longer. Then he threw down his pen,
exclaiming:

"I knew it! I knew it! I am writing nothing but rot. You have sat there
all this time reading without a smile, and pitying the ass I am making
of myself. But I am not wholly to blame. I am not strong enough to fight
against fate. I have been trying to write a funny book, with dead people
and sickness everywhere. Mr. Langdon died first, then a young lady in
our house, and now Mrs. Clemens and the baby have been at the point of
death all winter! Oh, Joe, I wish to God I could die myself!"

"Mark," said Joe, "I was reading critically, not for amusement, and so
far as I have read, and can judge, this is one of the best things you
have ever written. I have found it perfectly absorbing. You are doing a
great book!"

Clemens knew that Goodman never spoke except from conviction, and the
verdict was to him like a message of life handed down by an archangel.
He was a changed man instantly. He was all enthusiasm, full of his
subject, eager to go on. He proposed to pay Goodman a salary to stay
there and keep him company and furnish him with inspiration--the Pacific
coast atmosphere and vernacular, which he feared had slipped away from
him. Goodman declined the salary, but extended his visit as long as his
plans would permit, and the two had a happy time together, recalling old
Comstock days. Every morning, for a month or more, they used to tramp
over the farm. They fell into the habit of visiting the old quarry and
pawing over the fragments in search of fossil specimens. Both of them
had a poetic interest in geology, its infinite remotenesses and its
testimonies. Without scientific knowledge, they took a deep pleasure in
accumulating a collection, which they arranged on boards torn from an
old fence, until they had enough specimens to fill a small museum.
They imagined they could distinguish certain geological relations and
families, and would talk about trilobites, the Old Red Sandstone
period, and the azoic age, or follow random speculation to far-lying
conclusions, developing vague humors of phrase and fancy, having
altogether a joyful good time.

Another interest that developed during Goodman's stay was in one Ruloff,
who was under death sentence for a particularly atrocious murder. The
papers were full of Ruloff's prodigious l