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The American Claimant by Mark Twain

You see, the charm about Mulberry is, he is so catholic and unprejudiced

that he fits in anywhere and everywhere. It makes him powerful good

company, and as popular as scandal. You go to the White House when the

President’s holding a general reception–sometime when Mulberry’s there.

Why, dear me, you can’t tell which of them it is that’s holding that

reception.”

“Well, he certainly is a remarkable man–and he always was. Is he

religious?”

“Clear to his marrow–does more thinking and reading on that subject than

any other except Russia and Siberia: thrashes around over the whole

field, too; nothing bigoted about him.”

“What is his religion?”

“He–” She stopped, and was lost for a moment or two in thinking, then

she said, with simplicity, “I think he was a Mohammedan or something last

week.”

Washington started down town, now, to bring his trunk, for the hospitable

Sellerses would listen to no excuses; their house must be his home during

the session. The Colonel returned presently and resumed work upon his

plaything. It was finished when Washington got back.

“There it is,” said the Colonel, “all finished.”

“What is it for, Colonel?”

“Oh, it’s just a trifle. Toy to amuse the children.”

Washington examined it.

“It seems to be a puzzle.”

“Yes, that’s what it is. I call it Pigs in the Clover. Put them in–see

if you can put them in the pen.”

After many failures Washington succeeded, and was as pleased as a child.

“It’s wonderfully ingenious, Colonel, it’s ever so clever and

interesting–why, I could play with it all day. What are you going to do

with it?”

“Oh, nothing. Patent it and throw it aside.”

“Don’t you do anything of the kind. There’s money in that thing.”

A compassionate look traveled over the Colonel’s countenance, and he

said:

“Money–yes; pin money: a couple of hundred thousand, perhaps. Not

more.”

Washington’s eyes blazed.

“A couple of hundred thousand dollars! do you call that pin money?”

The colonel rose and tip-toed his way across the room, closed a door that

was slightly ajar, tip-toed his way to his seat again, and said, under

his breath:

“You can keep a secret?”

Washington nodded his affirmative, he was too awed to speak.

“You have heard of materialization-materialization of departed spirits?”

Washington had heard of it.

“And probably didn’t believe in it; and quite right, too. The thing as

practised by ignorant charlatans is unworthy of attention or respect-

where there’s a dim light and a dark cabinet, and a parcel of sentimental

gulls gathered together, with their faith and their shudders and their

tears all ready, and one and the same fatty degeneration of protoplasm

and humbug comes out and materializes himself into anybody you want,

grandmother, grandchild, brother-in-law, Witch of Endor, John Milton,

Siamese twins, Peter the Great, and all such frantic nonsense–no, that

is all foolish and pitiful. But when a man that is competent brings the

vast powers of science to bear, it’s a different matter, a totally

different matter, you see. The spectre that answers that call has come

to stay. Do you note the commercial value of that detail?”

“Well, I–the–the truth is, that I don’t quite know that I do. Do you

mean that such, being permanent, not transitory, would give more general

satisfaction, and so enhance the price–of tickets to the show–”

“Show? Folly–listen to me; and get a good grip on your breath, for you

are going to need it. Within three days I shall have completed my

method, and then–let the world stand aghast, for it shall see marvels.

Washington, within three days–ten at the outside–you shall see me call

the dead of any century, and they will arise and walk. Walk?–they shall

walk forever, and never die again. Walk with all the muscle and spring

of their pristine vigor.”

“Colonel! Indeed it does take one’s breath away.”

“Now do you see the money that’s in it?”

“I’m–well, I’m–not really sure that I do.”

Great Scott, look here. I shall have a monopoly; they’ll all belong to

me, won’t they? Two thousand policemen in the city of New York. Wages,

four dollars a day. I’ll replace them with dead ones at half the money.

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Categories: Twain, Mark
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