sentences on that placard which would have been all right if they had
been punctuated; but they ran those two sentences together without a
comma or anything, and that would naturally create a wrong impression,
because it said, “Mark Twain arrives Ascot Cup stolen.” No doubt many a
person was misled by those sentences joined together in that unkind way.
I have no doubt my character has suffered from it. I suppose I ought to
defend my character, but how can I defend it? I can say here and now–
and anybody can see by my face that I am sincere, that I speak the truth-
-that I have never seen that Cup. I have not got the Cup–I did not have
a chance to get it. I have always had a good character in that way. I
have hardly ever stolen anything, and if I did steal anything I had
discretion enough to know about the value of it first. I do not steal
things that are likely to get myself into trouble. I do not think any of
us do that. I know we all take things–that is to be expected–but
really, I have never taken anything, certainly in England, that amounts
to any great thing. I do confess that when I was here seven years ago I
stole a hat, but that did not amount to anything. It was not a good hat,
and was only a clergyman’s hat, anyway.
I was at a luncheon party, and Archdeacon Wilberforce was there also. I
dare say he is Archdeacon now–he was a canon then–and he was serving in
the Westminster battery, if that is the proper term–I do not know, as
you mix military and ecclesiastical things together so much. He left the
luncheon table before I did. He began this. I did steal his hat, but he
began by taking mine. I make that interjection because I would not
accuse Archdeacon Wilberforce of stealing my hat–I should not think of
it. I confine that phrase to myself. He merely took my hat.
And with good judgment, too–it was a better hat than his. He came out
before the luncheon was over, and sorted the hats in the hall, and
selected one which suited. It happened to be mine. He went off with it.
When I came out by-and-by there was no hat there which would go on my
head except his, which was left behind. My head was not the customary
size just at that time. I had been receiving a good many very nice and
complimentary attentions, and my head was a couple of sizes larger than
usual, and his hat just suited me. The bumps and corners were all right
intellectually. There were results pleasing to me–possibly so to him.
He found out whose hat it was, and wrote me saying it was pleasant that
all the way home, whenever he met anybody his gravities, his solemnities,
his deep thoughts, his eloquent remarks were all snatched up by the
people he met, and mistaken for brilliant humorisms.
I had another experience. It was not unpleasing. I was received with a
deference which was entirely foreign to my experience by everybody whom I
met, so that before I got home I had a much higher opinion of myself than
I have ever had before or since. And there is in that very connection an
incident which I remember at that old date which is rather melancholy to
me, because it shows how a person can deteriorate in a mere seven years.
It is seven years ago. I have not that hat now. I was going down Pall-
Mall, or some other of your big streets, and I recognized that that hat
needed ironing. I went into a big shop and passed in my hat, and asked
that it might be ironed. They were courteous, very courteous, even
courtly. They brought that hat back to me presently very sleek and nice,
and I asked how much there was to pay. They replied that they did not
charge the clergy anything. I have cherished the delight of that moment
from that day to this. It was the first thing I did the other day to go