How to Tell a Story, and Other Essays — John Shaqi
How to Tell a Story, and Other EssaysTwain, Mark
General
How to Tell a Story, and Other Essays
Twain, Mark
Essays; Short stories; Storytelling
“It ain't no use. We can't buck agin him. He just utilizes everything we
put up to modify him with, and gives it his own flavor and plays it back
on us. Why, Cap., don't you know, it's as much as a hundred times worse
in there now than it was when he first got a-going. I never did see one
of 'em warm up to his work so, and take such a dumnation interest in it.
No, Sir, I never did, as long as I've ben on the road; and I've carried
a many a one of 'em, as I was telling you.”
We went in again after we were frozen pretty stiff; but my, we couldn't
stay in, now. So we just waltzed back and forth, freezing, and thawing,
and stifling, by turns. In about an hour we stopped at another station;
and as we left it Thompson came in with a bag, and said,--
“Cap., I'm a-going to chance him once more,--just this once; and if we
don't fetch him this time, the thing for us to do, is to just throw up
the sponge and withdraw from the canvass. That's the way I put it up.”
He had brought a lot of chicken feathers, and dried apples, and leaf
tobacco, and rags, and old shoes, and sulphur, and asafoetida, and one
thing or another; and he, piled them on a breadth of sheet iron in the
middle of the floor, and set fire to them.
When they got well started, I couldn't see, myself, how even the corpse
could stand it. All that went before was just simply poetry to that
smell,--but mind you, the original smell stood up out of it just as
sublime as ever,--fact is, these other smells just seemed to give it a
better hold; and my, how rich it was! I didn't make these reflections
there--there wasn't time--made them on the platform. And breaking for
the platform, Thompson got suffocated and fell; and before I got him
dragged out, which I did by the collar, I was mighty near gone myself.
When we revived, Thompson said dejectedly,--
“We got to stay out here, Cap. We got to do it. They ain't no other way.
The Governor wants to travel alone, and he's fixed so he can outvote
us.”
And presently he added,
“And don't you know, we're pisoned. It's our last trip, you can make up
your mind to it. Typhoid fever is what's going to come of this. I feel
it acoming right now. Yes, sir, we're elected, just as sure as you're
born.”
We were taken from the platform an hour later, frozen and insensible,
at the next station, and I went straight off into a virulent fever, and
never knew anything again for three weeks. I found out, then, that I
had spent that awful night with a harmless box of rifles and a lot of
innocent cheese; but the news was too late to save me; imagination had
done its work, and my health was permanently shattered; neither Bermuda
nor any other land can ever bring it back tome. This is my last trip; I
am on my way home to die.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of How Tell a Story and Others
by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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