Mark Twain's Letters — Volume 4 (1886-1900) eBook

No. 2 and 3. 

I tell you it was interesting!  The Chicago campaign, I mean.  On the way out Mr. Rogers would plan out the campaign while I walked the floor and smoked and assented.  Then he would close it up with a snap and drop it and we would totally change the subject and take up the scenery, etc.

(Here follows the long detailed report of the Chicago conference, of interest only to the parties directly concerned.)

No. 4. 

We had nice tripe, going and coming.  Mr. Rogers had telegraphed the Pennsylvania Railroad for a couple of sections for us in the fast train leaving at 2 p. m. the 22nd.  The Vice President telegraphed back that every berth was engaged (which was not true—­it goes without saying) but that he was sending his own car for us.  It was mighty nice and comfortable.  In its parlor it had two sofas, which could become beds at night.  It had four comfortably-cushioned cane arm-chairs.  It had a very nice bedroom with a wide bed in it; which I said I would take because I believed I was a little wider than Mr. Rogers—­which turned out to be true; so I took it.  It had a darling back-porch—­railed, roofed and roomy; and there we sat, most of the time, and viewed the scenery and talked, for the weather was May weather, and the soft dream-pictures of hill and river and mountain and sky were clear and away beyond anything I have ever seen for exquisiteness and daintiness.

The colored waiter knew his business, and the colored cook was a finished artist.  Breakfasts:  coffee with real cream; beefsteaks, sausage, bacon, chops, eggs in various ways, potatoes in various—­yes, and quite wonderful baked potatoes, and hot as fire.  Dinners—­all manner of things, including canvas-back duck, apollinaris, claret, champagne, etc.

We sat up chatting till midnight, going and coming; seldom read a line, day or night, though we were well fixed with magazines, etc.; then I finished off with a hot Scotch and we went to bed and slept till 9.30a.m.  I honestly tried to pay my share of hotel bills, fees, etc., but I was not allowed—­and I knew the reason why, and respected the motive.  I will explain when I see you, and then you will understand.

We were 25 hours going to Chicago; we were there 24 hours; we were 30 hours returning.  Brisk work, but all of it enjoyable.  We insisted on leaving the car at Philadelphia so that our waiter and cook (to whom Mr. R. gave $10 apiece,) could have their Christmas-eve at home.

Mr. Rogers’s carriage was waiting for us in Jersey City and deposited me at the Players.  There—­that’s all.  This letter is to make up for the three letterless days.  I love you, dear heart, I love you all. 
          
                                                     Saml.

XXXIV

Letters 1894.  A winter in new York.  Business failure. 
End of the machine