Visions of a sheriff, attachment and suit for heavy damages oppressed Mr. Forepaugh at once, but his quick wit suggested a way out of the trouble. “Take this fellow to the cars,” he shouted to “Dan” Taylor, boss canvasman, “and keep him locked there. Don’t let him out when he gets his senses again, but bring him to me in the morning in Syracuse.” The bruised and wondering man was taken like a prisoner, according to instructions, before the owner of the show next day. Mr. Forepaugh’s attitude was that of a judge on the police court bench. A withering frown was on his face. “You’re a nice specimen to hire out as a driver,” he observed severely, “you were so drunk you fell off the wagon. You are discharged. I can’t tolerate intoxication with my circus. It’s fortunate you were not killed and the horses didn’t run away.” The effects of drink and the blow he received had driven memory from the unfortunate man’s brain, and as Mr. Forepaugh perceived it a load was lifted from him. He talked kindly but firmly to the penitent before him, dwelt on the evils of intemperance and finally offered him a day’s pay if he would promise not to drink liquor for a year. The pledge was solemnly given and, I have been told, the man was ever after consecrated to sobriety. * * * * * A good story is told by a former press agent of one of the big circuses of how Samuel D. Clemens (Mark Twain) was out-humored at his home in Hartford, Conn., by an untutored savage. The enterprising agent decided it would be a good advertisement to get an interview between Mr. Clemens and one of the Indians who were then a feature of the show. He called on the humorist and laid the matter before him. Mr. Clemens said that he didn’t care for the Indians, he was very busy, and didn’t see what Indians had to do with him, anyway. “Why, the fact is,” replied the circus man, “they have heard of you in the far West and want to see you.” Still Mr. Clemens was indisposed to grant the request until the press agent swore solemnly that a big Sioux Chief had said that he would never die happy, if compelled to return to his reservation without seeing and speaking with the man whose fame was world-wide. “All right,” finally assented the humorist. “Have him here at six o’clock this evening, but make it short.”