“Now I must get my train—but let me see—I have forgotten something. Oh, I know! I have forgotten my wife.” Then appealing to the crowd, he called: “Does anyone here happen to know where Mrs. Clemens is?” A dozen voices answered in the affirmative, and some one ran to fetch her. Mark Twain stood perfectly still until she was escorted to his side by an admiring bystander. I can imagine Roosevelt doing this, but Mr. Emerson or Woodrow Wilson—never. A deep sense of civic responsibility was one of Mr. Clemens’s most marked characteristics. His idea was that every man in a community should consider himself responsible if things did not go well, and not be too lazy to raise a kick. He told me of dining in a Pullman car once where the menu stated there was a selection of roast beef or chicken. He ordered the chicken, was told there was none left, so made up his mind to be contented with the roast beef. Before he had finished, the conductor of the car came in and the negro waiter served him with chicken. “He was a servant of the company and I was a patron,” Clemens said, “and I rose and proclaimed that that was my roast chicken. I did not get it, but when I arrived home I wrote to the company president and received an apology. If you have a complaint, do not write to a small official, for it will never penetrate upward, but if you write to the highest, it may leak down.” Another time, coming from Hartford with his daughter, he took a green car at the station. It was very crowded and they had to stand. Mr. Clemens protested at the conductor pushing them about and punching his daughter in the ribs as he collected the fares. Whereupon he said: “Jesus Christ! Do you think you own this car?” “_I_ don’t mind being called that,” said the humorist, “but my daughter lives in Hartford and is not used to such language. Her feelings were hurt.” They got off at the car barn and, looking about for some one with whom to register a “kick,” met Billy Laffan (part owner and editor of the _Sun_), who advised them to let the newspaper do the kicking. Sam wrote his troubles to the _Sun_. The next day the _Tribune_ (it was an august sheet in those days) came out with an editorial saying that it was bad taste on the part of Mark Twain to make fun of the Holy Name; that they had looked up the matter and found that it was all a figment of his imagination. This was answered, the following day, with a letter from the president of the car line, saying that the story _was_ true, that the offending conductor had been discharged, and that he (the president) wished to thank Mr. Clemens publicly for having helped them in the matter. The sequel to the occurrence was told me by Mr. Clemens himself. “Some time after, I was at my home in Hartford, when my maid came into my study to say that there was a man calling upon me. She showed in a fellow I did not recognize. He began by saying: “‘Mr. Clemens, I am the man who called you Jesus Christ.’” “‘Admit your mistake?’ I asked.”