ht be a good many books as
graceful in style somewhere on the shelves; so I began a course of novel
reading. I have dropped it now; it did not amuse me. But as regards
Robert, the effect on me was exactly as though a singer of street
ballads were to hear excellent music from a church organ. I didn't stop
to ask whether the music was legitimate or necessary. I listened, and I
liked what I heard. I am speaking of the grace and beauty of the style."

"You see," he went on, "every man has his private opinion about a book.
But that is my private opinion. If I had lived in the beginning of
things, I should have looked around the township to see what popular
opinion thought of the murder of Abel before I openly condemned Cain. I
should have had my private opinion, of course, but I shouldn't have
expressed it until I had felt the way. You have my private opinion about
that book. I don't know what my public ones are exactly. They won't
upset the earth."

He recurled himself into the chair and talked of other things.

"I spend nine months of the year at Hartford. I have long ago satisfied
myself that there is no hope of doing much work during those nine
months. People come in and call. They call at all hours, about
everything in the world. One day I thought I would keep a list of
interruptions. It began this way:--

"A man came and would see no one but Mr. Clemens. He was an agent for
photogravure reproductions of Salon pictures. I very seldom use Salon
pictures in my books.

"After that man another man, who refused to see any one but Mr. Clemens,
came to make me write to Washington about something. I saw him. I saw a
third man, then a fourth. By this time it was noon. I had grown tired of
keeping the list. I wished to rest.

"But the fifth man was the only one of the crowd with a card of his own.
He sent up his card. 'Ben Koontz, Hannibal, Mo.' I was raised in
Hannibal. Ben was an old schoolmate of mine. Consequently I threw the
house wide open and rushed with both hands out at a big, fat, heavy man,
who was not the Ben I had ever known--nor anything like him.

"'But _is_ it you, Ben?' I said. 'You've altered in the last thousand
years.'

"The fat man said: 'Well, I'm not Koontz exactly, but I met him down in
Missouri, and he told me to be sure and call on you, and he gave me his
card, and'--here he acted the little scene for my benefit--'if you can
wait a minute till I can get out the circulars--I'm not Koontz exactly,