The American Claimant by Mark Twain

house is no more–The Right Honourable, The Most Noble, The Most Puissant

Simon Lathers Lord Rossmore having departed this life (“Gone at last–

this is unspeakably precious news, my son,”) at his seat in the environs

of the hamlet of Duffy’s Corners in the grand old State of Arkansas,–and

his twin brother with him, both being crushed by a log at a

smoke-house-raising, owing to carelessness on the part of all present,

referable to over-confidence and gaiety induced by overplus of

sour-mash–(“Extolled be sour-mash, whatever that may be, eh Berkeley?”)

five days ago, with no scion of our ancient race present to close his

eyes and inter him with the honors due his historic name and lofty

rank-in fact, he is on the ice yet, him and his brother–friends took a

collection for it. But I shall take immediate occasion to have their

noble remains shipped to you (“Great heavens!”) for interment, with due

ceremonies and solemnities, in the family vault or mausoleum of our

house. Meantime I shall put up a pair of hatchments on my house-front,

and you will of course do the same at your several seats.

I have also to remind you that by this sad disaster I as sole heir,

inherit and become seized of all the titles, honors, lands, and goods of

our lamented relative, and must of necessity, painful as the duty is,

shortly require at the bar of the Lords restitution of these dignities

and properties, now illegally enjoyed by your titular lordship.

With assurance of my distinguished consideration and warm cousinly

regard, I remain

Your titular lordship’s

Most obedient servant,

Mulberry Sellers Earl Rossmore.

“Im-mense! Come, this one’s interesting. Why, Berkeley, his breezy

impudence is–is–why, it’s colossal, it’s sublime.”

“No, this one doesn’t seem to cringe much.”

“Cringe–why, he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Hatchments! To

commemorate that sniveling tramp and his, fraternal duplicate. And he is

going to send me the remains. The late Claimant was a fool, but plainly

this new one’s a maniac. What a name! Mulberry Sellers–there’s music

for you, Simon Lathers–Mulberry Sellers–Mulberry Sellers–Simon

Lathers. Sounds like machinery working and churning. Simon Lathers,

Mulberry Sel– Are you going?”

“If I have your leave, father.” –

The old gentleman stood musing some time, after his son was gone. This

was his thought:

“He is a good boy, and lovable. Let him take his own course–as it would

profit nothing to oppose him–make things worse, in fact. My arguments

and his aunt’s persuasions have failed; let us see what America can do

for us. Let us see what equality and hard-times can effect for the

mental health of a brain-sick young British lord. Going to renounce his

lordship and be a man! Yas!”

CHAPTER II.

COLONEL MULBERRY SELLERS–this was some days before he wrote his letter

to Lord Rossmore–was seated in his “library,” which was also his

“drawing-room” and was also his “picture gallery” and likewise his

“work-shop.” Sometimes he called it by one of these names, sometimes by

another, according to occasion and circumstance. He was constructing

what seemed to be some kind of a frail mechanical toy; and was apparently

very much interested in his work. He was a white-headed man, now, but

otherwise he was as young, alert, buoyant, visionary and enterprising as

ever. His loving old wife sat near by, contentedly knitting and

thinking, with a cat asleep in her lap. The room was large, light, and

had a comfortable look, in fact a home-like look, though the furniture

was of a humble sort and not over abundant, and the knickknacks and

things that go to adorn a living-room not plenty and not costly. But

there were natural flowers, and there was an abstract and unclassifiable

something about the place which betrayed the presence in the house of

somebody with a happy taste and an effective touch.

Even the deadly chromos on the walls were somehow without offence;

in fact they seemed to belong there and to add an attraction to the room-

-a fascination, anyway; for whoever got his eye on one of them was like

to gaze and suffer till he died–you have seen that kind of pictures.

Some of these terrors were landscapes, some libeled the sea, some were

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