The American Claimant by Mark Twain

he had gained, and was also willing to return home and resume his

position and be content with it and thankful for it for the future,

leaving further experiment of a missionary sort to other young people

needing the chastening and quelling persuasions of experience, the only

logic sure to convince a diseased imagination and restore it to rugged

health. Then he approached the subject of marriage with the daughter of

the American Claimant with a good deal of caution and much painstaking

art. He said praiseful and appreciative things about the girl, but

didn’t dwell upon that detail or make it prominent. The thing which he

made prominent was the opportunity now so happily afforded, to reconcile

York and Lancaster, graft the warring roses upon one stem, and end

forever a crying injustice which had already lasted far too long. One

could infer that he had thought this thing all out and chosen this way of

making all things fair and right because it was sufficiently fair and

considerably wiser than the renunciation-scheme which he had brought with

him from England. One could infer that, but he didn’t say it. In fact

the more he read his letter over, the more he got to inferring it

himself.

When the old earl received that letter, the first part of it filled him

with a grim and snarly satisfaction; but the rest of it brought a snort

or two out of him that could be translated differently. He wasted no ink

in this emergency, either in cablegrams or letters; he promptly took ship

for America to look into the matter himself. He had staunchly held his

grip all this long time, and given no sign of the hunger at his heart to

see his son; hoping for the cure of his insane dream, and resolute that

the process should go through all the necessary stages without assuaging

telegrams q other nonsense from home, and here was victory at last.

Victory, but stupidly marred by this idiotic marriage project. Yes, he

would step over and take a hand in this matter himself.

During the first ten days following the mailing of the letter Tracy’s

spirits had no idle time; they were always climbing up into the clouds or

sliding down into the earth as deep as the law of gravitation reached.

He was intensely happy or intensely miserable by turns, according to Miss

Sally’s moods. He never could tell when the mood was going to change,

and when it changed he couldn’t tell what it was that had changed it.

Sometimes she was so in love with him that her love was tropical, torrid,

and she could find no language fervent enough for its expression; then

suddenly, and without warning or any apparent reason, the weather would

change, and the victim would find himself adrift among the icebergs and

feeling as lonesome and friendless as the north pole. It sometimes

seemed to him that a man might better be dead than exposed to these

devastating varieties of climate.

The case was simple. Sally wanted to believe that Tracy’s preference was

disinterested; so she was always applying little tests of one sort or

another, hoping and expecting that they would bring out evidence which

would confirm or fortify her belief. Poor Tracy did not know that these

experiments were being made upon him, consequently he walked promptly

into all the traps the girl set for him. These traps consisted in

apparently casual references to social distinction, aristocratic title

and privilege, and such things. Often Tracy responded to these

references heedlessly and not much caring what he said provided it kept

the talk going and prolonged the seance. He didn’t suspect that the girl

was watching his face and listening for his words as one who watches the

judge’s face and listens for the words which will restore him to home and

friends and freedom or shut him away from the sun and human companionship

forever. He didn’t suspect that his careless words were being weighed,

and so he often delivered sentence of death when it would have been just

as handy and all the same to him to pronounce acquittal. Daily he broke

the girl’s heart, nightly he sent her to the rack for sleep. He couldn’t

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