THE COMPLETE NOVELS OF MARK TWAIN - 12 Books in One Edition. Марк Твен

Hackensack.’ It is full of love troubles and mysteries and all sorts of such things. The heroine strangles her own mother. Just glance at the title please, — ’Gonderil the Vampire, or The Dance of Death.’ And here is ‘The Jokist’s Own Treasury, or, The Phunny Phellow’s Bosom Phriend.’ The funniest thing! — I’ve read it four times, ma’m, and I can laugh at the very sight of it yet. And ‘Gonderil,’ — I assure you it is the most splendid book I ever read. I know you will like these books, ma’m, because I’ve read them myself and I know what they are.”

      “Oh, I was perplexed — but I see how it is, now. You must have thought I asked you to tell me what sort of books I wanted — for I am apt to say things which I don’t really mean, when I am absent minded. I suppose I did ask you, didn’t I?”

      “No ma’m, — but I — ”

      “Yes, I must have done it, else you would not have offered your services, for fear it might be rude. But don’t be troubled — it was all my fault. I ought not to have been so heedless — I ought not to have asked you.”

      “But you didn’t ask me, ma’m. We always help customers all we can. You see our experience — living right among books all the time — that sort of thing makes us able to help a customer make a selection, you know.”

      “Now does it, indeed? It is part of your business, then?”

      “Yes’m, we always help.”

      “How good it is of you. Some people would think it rather obtrusive, perhaps, but I don’t — I think it is real kindness — even charity. Some people jump to conclusions without any thought — you have noticed that?”

      “O yes,” said the clerk, a little perplexed as to whether to feel comfortable or the reverse; “Oh yes, indeed, I’ve often noticed that, ma’m.”

      “Yes, they jump to conclusions with an absurd heedlessness. Now some people would think it odd that because you, with the budding tastes and the innocent enthusiasms natural to your time of life, enjoyed the Vampires and the volume of nursery jokes, you should imagine that an older person would delight in them too — but I do not think it odd at all. I think it natural — perfectly natural in you. And kind, too. You look like a person who not only finds a deep pleasure in any little thing in the way of literature that strikes you forcibly, but is willing and glad to share that pleasure with others — and that, I think, is noble and admirable — very noble and admirable. I think we ought all to share our pleasures with others, and do what we can to make each other happy, do not you?”

      “Oh, yes. Oh, yes, indeed. Yes, you are quite right, ma’m.”

      But he was getting unmistakably uncomfortable, now, notwithstanding Laura’s confiding sociability and almost affectionate tone.

      “Yes, indeed. Many people would think that what a bookseller — or perhaps his clerk — knows about literature as literature, in contradistinction to its character as merchandise, would hardly, be of much assistance to a person — that is, to an adult, of course — in the selection of food for the mind — except of course wrapping paper, or twine, or wafers, or something like that — but I never feel that way. I feel that whatever service you offer me, you offer with a good heart, and I am as grateful for it as if it were the greatest boon to me. And it is useful to me — it is bound to be so. It cannot be otherwise. If you show me a book which you have read — not skimmed over or merely glanced at, but read — and you tell me that you enjoyed it and that you could read it three or four times, then I know what book I want — ”

      “Thank you! — th — ”

      — ”to avoid. Yes indeed. I think that no information ever comes amiss in this world. Once or twice I have traveled in the cars — and there you know, the peanut boy always measures you with his eye, and hands you out a book of murders if you are fond of theology; or Tupper or a dictionary or T. S. Arthur if you are fond of poetry; or he hands you a volume of distressing jokes or a copy of the American Miscellany if you particularly dislike that sort of literary fatty degeneration of the heart — just for the world like a pleasant spoken well-meaning gentleman in any bookstore. But here I am running on as if business men had nothing to do but listen to women talk. You must pardon me, for I was not thinking. — And you must let me thank you again for helping me. I read a good deal, and shall be in nearly every day and I would be sorry to have you think me a customer who talks too much and buys too little. Might I ask you to give me the time? Ah-two-twenty-two. Thank you very much. I will set mine while I have the opportunity.”

      But she could not get her watch open, apparently. She tried, and tried again. Then the clerk, trembling at his own audacity, begged to be allowed to assist. She allowed him. He succeeded, and was radiant under the sweet influences of her pleased face and her seductively worded acknowledgements with gratification. Then he gave her the exact time again, and anxiously watched her turn the hands slowly till they reached the precise spot without accident or loss of life, and then he looked as happy as a man who had helped a fellow being through a momentous undertaking, and was grateful to know that he had not lived in vain. Laura thanked him once more. The words were music to his ear; but what were they compared to the ravishing smile with which she flooded his whole system? When she bowed her adieu and turned away, he was no longer suffering torture in the pillory where she had had him trussed up during so many distressing moments, but he belonged to the list of her conquests and was a flattered and happy thrall, with the dawn-light of love breaking over the eastern elevations of his heart.

      It was about the hour, now, for the chairman of the House Committee on Benevolent Appropriations to make his appearance, and Laura stepped to the door to reconnoiter. She glanced up the street, and sure enough —

      CHAPTER XXXVII.

      Table of Contents

      That Chairman was nowhere in sight. Such disappointments seldom occur in novels, but are always happening in real life.

      She was obliged to make a new plan. She sent him a note, and asked him to call in the evening — which he did.

      She received the Hon. Mr. Buckstone with a sunny smile, and said:

      “I don’t know how I ever dared to send you a note, Mr. Buckstone, for you have the reputation of not being very partial to our sex.”

      “Why I am sure my reputation does me wrong, then, Miss Hawkins. I have been married once — is that nothing in my favor?”

      “Oh, yes — that is, it may be and it may not be. If you have known what perfection is in woman, it is fair to argue that inferiority cannot interest you now.”

      “Even if that were the case it could not affect you, Miss Hawkins,” said the chairman gallantly. “Fame does not place you in the list of ladies who rank below perfection.” This happy speech delighted Mr. Buckstone as much as it seemed to delight Laura. But it did not confuse him as much as it apparently did her.

      “I wish in all sincerity that I could be worthy of such a felicitous compliment as that. But I am a woman, and so I am gratified for it just as it is, and would not have it altered.”

      “But it is not merely a compliment — that is, an empty complement — it is the truth. All men will endorse that.”

      Laura looked pleased, and said:

      “It is very kind of you to say it. It is a distinction indeed, for a country-bred girl like me to be so spoken of by people of brains and culture. You are so kind that I know you will pardon my putting you to the trouble to come this evening.”

      “Indeed it was no trouble. It was a pleasure. I am alone in the world since I lost my wife, and I often long for the society of your sex, Miss Hawkins, notwithstanding what people may say to the contrary.”

      “It is pleasant to hear you say that. I am sure it must be so. If I feel lonely at times, because