Plentywood herald. [volume] (Plentywood, Mont.) 1908-current, 1931-12-24
by CHARLES H. EGGLESTON)

NNE AFTERNOON in the summer
Of 1896, being in Butte, I took the
5 o'clock train for Anaconda. En-
terlng the smoking car, l beheld before
me no less a parsonage than Mark
Twain. He had read from his writings
IN Butte the night before and was bill
ed 70 read in Anaconda that night.
Leaving New York two or three weeks
earlier, he was on his famous journey
around the world. reading in the prime
ipal cities en- route, in an effort to re-
coup his fallen fortunes-the failure of
a New York publishing house, in which
he had invested heavily, having left
him just about broke. This globe en-
clrcling tour, by the way, was not
only highly profitable in itself but it
gave him the material for his book
Following the Equator" published a
year or two later.
Why did so great an author include
so small a town as Anaconda in his
itinerary? Well, although its popu-
latlon al that time was only 5000 or
5000, II enjoyed the reputation of be-
Ing a good show toWn-perhaps, for a
city Of its size, the best one-night stand
IN the country. En- route from Min
road show made it a point to play in
Butte. and John Mcguire. peace to the
ashes Of that fine old legitimate actor,
theatre manager and all-round good
SCOUT, saw TO it that every worth
while attraction" took in Anaconda
on the side. Prior to the opening of
the Margaret theatre in 1897 many of
the best tragedians and comedians in
the land trod the boards at Evans
Opera House, as crude an auditorium
perhaps as they had ever visited in a
professional capacity. But when it
was packed TO the doors, as was almost
invariably the case when a high-grade
show came along, the financial aspects
Of the house" compensated for its
physical crudities. It was up over a
saloon and licensed gambling house on
lower Main street. l recall one night
when Nat Goodwin, after playing in
brilliant fashion in the upper story,
played in horrible luck on the ground
floor-but that's another yarn.
Although l had never seer him be-
fore. / knew al a glance it was Mark
Twain from his pictures. There was
nc mistaking that shock Of iron-gray
hair, that keen, inquiring face, that
long, black cigar. Opposite him sat
his business manager and temporary
travelling companion, Major Pond, fam
GUS in his day as an organizer of lee
ture lyceums. promoter Of concert tours
and the like. AS l gazed at them l
said 10 myself:
Here's the chance Of a lifetime. /
must interview Mark Twain. He has
IN idle hour on his hands and can't
refuse me. He can't say he's too busy.
He can't plead a previous engagement.
He can't escape me without hurting
himself from the train. Not to inter-
view him under these suspicious cir
cumstances would be a journalistic
crime-a cas- Of professional malprac-
tice. Mark Twain is my meat. Here
goesl Mark Twain or bust!"
Sauntering jauntily over to where he
sat, l introduced myself as a reporter
for the Anaconda Standard, and would
he be 20 good as to give me an in
terview?
What do you want 10 interview me
about?" drawled Mark.
Now I had anticipated that very
question. / had been asked it before
when, as a reporter for the Syracuse
Standard, / had interviewed, or at
tempted TO interview, celebrities passing
through that city. And I had framed
a stock answer to that stock question
So instantly and glibly l answered
Marx.
Anything you may choose to talk
about, Mr.. Clemens, whether in the
heavens above, the earth beneath, Oh
the waters under the earth"
For several seconds he didn't say q
word. A faint flicker Of a smile wa
on his face, but in view Of his silence
l took 1t TO be ironical. My inferiority
complex started up and began work
ing fun blast. I imagined Mark wa,
sizing me up as a cross between g
Simple Simon and a Smart Alec.
fully expected some remark that would
be the oral equivalent of a swift kick
But at last, 10 my establishment anc
Joy, Mark spoke and that quite court
eously.
E1A ~