Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1886-08-27


Mr.. Steve Gillis, printer and journa-
list, was the friend and room mate OF
Mark Twain in the old days when the
latter was reporter on the Cal, says the
San Francisco Post. They had likewise
suffered and triumphed together ia the
sagebrush and dusty green foliage of
which they frequently succeeded in
turning to bright red. Mark was and
is nervous man. Small annoyances
robbed his life of sweetness and light.
Stephen had no nerves and it gave him
malign pleasure to experiment upon
those of Mr.. Clements.
Steve" cried Mark, in an agonized
voice, shaking hi, bedfellow out OF an
apparently sound slumber, edo you hear
that mouse-that internal, gnawlng
mouse? It's driving me Wild
ooh. hang the mouse, "growled Gillis'
turning over and snoring o:tentatiousiy'
1t wasn't = mouse, but little machine
which Stephen was privately working
with the benevolent purpose of tortur-
ing his friend.
Mark lay and writhed and cursed anu
gnasheG his teeth. lie cried shoe aud
beat upon the hcadboard. lie got up
and threw things under the bed, and
walked around the room and wrung his
hands and moistcd his profanity with
tears of impotent evaporation. The
mouse still gnawed aud Twain put OH
his clothes and went forth and paced
the streets till morning, leaving his tor
mentor to revel in bed.
"Hello, Sam, what have you been do
ing?" asked ellis another night,
startled out of real sleep this time and
sitting up In bed. And no wonder he
was startled. Mark, undressed, had just
entered the room. In his hand he held
a japanese sword, rs sharp as a razor.
priced gift from Bayard Taylor. This
weapon was dripping with blood. The
clock struck midnight.
oh him, he'll never crow
again" exulted the assassin; but even
as he crawled into bed the offending
rooster sent forth Il cock-a-doodle-do
that caused Mark to give howl OF
foiled vengeance and bury his head un-
der the blankets. In the morning IL was
discovered that his one furious stroke
i'm the chicken house had bereit eight
hens OF their heads, but the rooster had
escaped. He owed his life to the for
tunate circumstance that he slept-or
rather crowed-at the end of the perch
fartherest from the door OF the coop.
"Steve! Steve, / say! wake up'
came hoarse and furious whisper at 2
q. m.
Mr.. ellis awoke and bcheld Mr. Glenn
ents, clad only in his shirt, standing
by the open window. The night was
cold and Mr.. Clements was shiyering
violently. In his shaking hand was
revolver.
"Steye," he pleaded, "you are warm
and your nerve is good. Get up and
shoot this cat for me. I've been out IN
the yard for an hour trying to get
bead OH the brute, aud now that he's
there on the fence can't Kill him. Get
up, Steve, do"
ooh let the cat alone"
"What? You won't get up? Then,
Steve ellis I'll shoot you. I'm shaky,
but | can do that if can't hit cat!"
And Mr.. ellis arose and slew the cat
I'm self defense, and Mark Twain went
out and brought in bottle and sat up
till sunrise to celebrate the execution.
Mark Twain and Dan De Quille
roomcd together in early Comstock days.
One morning Dan missed his boots, and
after vain search, he suspiciously In
quired of Mark, who was lying IN bed
lazily smoking clay pipe: MARK,
can't find my boots. Do you know any
thing about eln?"
"Your boots ?" complacehtly replied
Mark. "well, yes; threw them at
that blasted cat that was yowling around
the house last night"
"Tbrew my boots at the cat" howled
Dan in rage. "Why in h--didnt
you throw your own bootsT
"Dan," said Mark, after a reflective
puff or two. "Dan, IL there is anything
[ hate il Is selfish man. l have OBJ
served of late that you are growing sell
fish. What difference does 1t make
whose boots were thrown at the cat?
Dan. beware Of selfshness. IL Is the
most contemplate trait in human ns-
ture. - Chicago Ners.