nation’s most valuable assets and industries–its literature.
I have arguments with me–also a barrel with liquid in it.
“Give me a chance. Get me the thanks of Congress. Don’t wait
for others–there isn’t time; furnish them to me yourself and
let Congress ratify later. I have stayed away and let Congress
alone for seventy-one years and am entitled to the thanks.
Congress knows this perfectly well, and I have long felt hurt
that this quite proper and earned expression of gratitude has
been merely felt by the House and never publicly uttered.
“Send me an order on the sergeant-at-arms quick. When shall I
come?
“With love and a benediction,
“MARK TWAIN.”
While waiting to appear before the committee, My. Clemens
talked to the reporters:
Why don’t you ask why I am wearing such apparently unseasonable clothes?
I’ll tell you. I have found that when a man reaches the advanced age of
seventy-one years, as I have, the continual sight of dark clothing is
likely to have a depressing effect upon him. Light-colored clothing is
more pleasing to the eye and enlivens the spirit. Now, of course, I
cannot compel every one to wear such clothing just for my especial
benefit, so I do the next best thing and wear it myself.
Of course, before a man reaches my years the fear of criticism might
prevent him from indulging his fancy. I am not afraid of that. I am
decidedly for pleasing color combinations in dress. I like to see the
women’s clothes, say, at the opera. What can be more depressing than the
sombre black which custom requires men to wear upon state occasions?
A group of men in evening clothes looks like a flock of crows, and is
just about as inspiring.
After all, what is the purpose of clothing? Are not clothes intended
primarily to preserve dignity and also to afford comfort to their wearer?
Now I know of nothing more uncomfortable than the present-day clothes of
men. The finest clothing made is a person’s own skin, but, of course,
society demands something more than this.
The best-dressed man I have ever seen, however, was a native of the
Sandwich Islands who attracted my attention thirty years ago. Now, when
that man wanted to don especial dress to honor a public occasion or a
holiday, why, he occasionally put on a pair of spectacles. Otherwise the
clothing with which God had provided him sufficed.
Of course, I have ideas of dress reform. For one thing, why not adopt
some of the women’s styles? Goodness knows, they adopt enough of ours.
Take the peek-a-boo waist, for instance. It has the obvious advantages
of being cool and comfortable, and in addition it is almost always made
up in pleasing colors which cheer and do not depress.
It is true that I dressed the Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s Court
in a plug-hat, but, let’s see, that was twenty-five years ago. Then no
man was considered fully dressed until he donned a plug-hat. Nowadays I
think that no man is dressed until he leaves it home. Why, when I left
home yesterday they trotted out a plug-hat for me to wear.
“You must wear it,” they told me; “why, just think of going to Washington
without a plug-hat!” But I said no; I would wear a derby or nothing.
Why, I believe I could walk along the streets of New York–I never do–
but still I think I could–and I should never see a well-dressed man
wearing a plug-hat. If I did I should suspect him of something. I don’t
know just what, but I would suspect him.
Why, when I got up on the second story of that Pennsylvania ferry-boat
coming down here yesterday I saw Howells coming along. He was the only
man on the boat with a plug-hat, and I tell you he felt ashamed of
himself. He said he had been persuaded to wear it against his better
sense. But just think of a man nearly seventy years old who has not a
mind of his own on such matters!
“Are you doing any work now?” the youngest and most serious reporter
asked.
Work? I retired from work on my seventieth birthday. Since then I have