The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of Crime in ConnecticutTwain, Mark
General
The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of Crime in Connecticut
Twain, Mark
Humorous stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“Well, none that I propose to tell you, my son. Ass! I don't care what
act you may turn your hand to, I can straightway whisper a word in your
ear and make you think you have committed a dreadful meanness. It is my
business--and my joy--to make you repent of everything you do. If I have
fooled away any opportunities it was not intentional; I beg to assure
you it was not intentional!”
“Don't worry; you haven't missed a trick that I know of. I never did a
thing in all my life, virtuous or otherwise, that I didn't repent of in
twenty-four hours. In church last Sunday I listened to a charity sermon.
My first impulse was to give three hundred and fifty dollars; I repented
of that and reduced it a hundred; repented of that and reduced it
another hundred; repented of that and reduced it another hundred;
repented of that and reduced the remaining fifty to twenty-five;
repented of that and came down to fifteen; repented of that and dropped
to two dollars and a half; when the plate came around at last, I
repented once more and contributed ten cents. Well, when I got home, I
did wish to goodness I had that ten cents back again! You never did
let me get through a charity sermon without having something to sweat
about.”
“Oh, and I never shall, I never shall. You can always depend on me.”
“I think so. Many and many's the restless night I've wanted to take you
by the neck. If I could only get hold of you now!”
“Yes, no doubt. But I am not an ass; I am only the saddle of an ass. But
go on, go on. You entertain me more than I like to confess.”
“I am glad of that. (You will not mind my lying a little, to keep in
practice.) Look here; not to be too personal, I think you are about the
shabbiest and most contemptible little shriveled-up reptile that can be
imagined. I am grateful enough that you are invisible to other people,
for I should die with shame to be seen with such a mildewed monkey of a
conscience as you are. Now if you were five or six feet high, and--”
“Oh, come! who is to blame?”
“I don't know.”
“Why, you are; nobody else.”
“Confound you, I wasn't consulted about your personal appearance.”
“I don't care, you had a good deal to do with it, nevertheless. When you
were eight or nine years old, I was seven feet high, and as pretty as a
picture.”
“I wish you had died young! So you have grown the wrong way, have you?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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