had not a single vice, unless you call it a vice in a Scot to love
Scotch. Together we devised the first and original newspaper syndicate,
selling two letters a week to twelve newspapers and getting $1 a letter.
That $24 a week would have been enough for us–if we had not had to
support the jug.
But there was a day when we felt that we must have $3 right away–$3 at
once. That was how I met the General. It doesn’t matter now what we
wanted so much money at one time for, but that Scot and I did
occasionally want it. The Scot sent me out one day to get it. He had a
great belief in Providence, that Scottish friend of mine. He said: “The
Lord will provide.”
I had given up trying to find the money lying about, and was in a hotel
lobby in despair, when I saw a beautiful unfriended dog. The dog saw me,
too, and at once we became acquainted. Then General Miles came in,
admired the dog, and asked me to price it. I priced it at $3. He
offered me an opportunity to reconsider the value of the beautiful
animal, but I refused to take more than Providence knew I needed. The
General carried the dog to his room.
Then came in a sweet little middle-aged man, who at once began looking
around the lobby.
“Did you lose a dog?” I asked. He said he had.
“I think I could find it,” I volunteered, “for a small sum.”
“‘How much?'” he asked. And I told him $3.
He urged me to accept more, but I did not wish to outdo Providence. Then
I went to the General’s room and asked for the dog back. He was very
angry, and wanted to know why I had sold him a dog that did not belong to
me.
“That’s a singular question to ask me, sir,” I replied. “Didn’t you ask
me to sell him? You started it.” And he let me have him. I gave him
back his $3 and returned the dog, collect, to its owner. That second $3
I earned home to the Scot, and we enjoyed it, but the first $3, the money
I got from the General, I would have had to lend.
The General seemed not to remember my part in that adventure, and I never
had the heart to tell him about it.
WHEN IN DOUBT, TELL THE TRUTH
Mark Twain’s speech at the dinner of the “Freundschaft
Society,” March 9, 1906, had as a basis the words of
introduction used by Toastmaster Frank, who, referring to
Pudd’nhead Wilson, used the phrase, “When in doubt, tell the
truth.”
MR. CHAIRMAN, Mr. PUTZEL, AND GENTLEMEN OF THE FREUNDSCHAFT,–That maxim
I did invent, but never expected it to be applied to me. I did say,
“When you are in doubt,” but when I am in doubt myself I use more
sagacity.
Mr. Grout suggested that if I have anything to say against Mr. Putzel, or
any criticism of his career or his character, I am the last person to
come out on account of that maxim and tell the truth. That is altogether
a mistake.
I do think it is right for other people to be virtuous so that they can
be happy hereafter, but if I knew every impropriety that even Mr. Putzel
has committed in his life, I would not mention one of them. My judgment
has been maturing for seventy years, and I have got to that point where I
know better than that.
Mr. Putzel stands related to me in a very tender way (through the tax
office), and it does not behoove me to say anything which could by any
possibility militate against that condition of things.
Now, that word–taxes, taxes, taxes! I have heard it to-night. I have
heard it all night. I wish somebody would change that subject; that is a
very sore subject to me.
I was so relieved when judge Leventritt did find something that was not
taxable–when he said that the commissioner could not tax your patience.
And that comforted me. We’ve got so much taxation. I don’t know of a