ch recognized in the other a kindred spirit. With Goodman, De Quille, and McCarthy, also E. E. Hingston--Ward's agent, a companionable fellow--they usually dined at Chaumond's, Virginia's high-toned French restaurant.
Those were three memorable weeks in Mark Twain's life. Artemus Ward was in the height of his fame, and he encouraged his new-found brother- humorist and prophesied great things of him. Clemens, on his side, measured himself by this man who had achieved fame, and perhaps with good reason concluded that Ward's estimate was correct, that he too could win fame and honor, once he got a start. If he had lacked ambition before Ward's visit, the latter's unqualified approval inspired him with that priceless article of equipment. He put his soul into entertaining the visitor during those three weeks; and it was apparent to their associates that he was at least Ward's equal in mental stature and originality. Goodman and the others began to realize that for Mark Twain the rewards of the future were to be measured only by his resolution and ability to hold out. On Christmas eve Artemus lectured in Silver City and afterward came to the Enterprise office to give the boys a farewell dinner. The Enterprise always published a Christmas carol, and Goodman sat at his desk writing it. He was just finishing as Ward came in:
"Slave, slave," said Artemus. "Come out and let me banish care from you."
They got the boys and all went over to Chaumond's, where Ward commanded Goodman to order the dinner. When the cocktails came on, Artemus lifted his glass and said:
"I give you Upper Canada."
The company rose, drank the toast in serious silence; then Goodman said:
"Of course, Artemus, it's all right, but why did you give us Upper Canada?"
"Because I don't want it myself," said Ward, gravely.
Then began a rising tide of humor that could hardly be matched in the world to-day. Mark Twain had awakened to a fuller power; Artemus Ward was in his prime. They were giants of a race that became extinct when Mark Twain died. The youth, the wine, the whirl of lights and life, the tumult of the shouting street-it was as if an electric stream of inspiration poured into those two human dynamos and sent them into a dazzling, scintillating whirl. All gone--as evanescent, as forgotten, as the lightnings of that vanished time; out of that vast feasting and entertainment only a trifling morsel remains. Ward now and then asked Goodman why he did not join in the banter. Goodman said:
"I'm preparing a joke, Artemus, but I'm keeping it for the present."
It was near daybreak when Ward at last called for the bill. It was two hundred and thirty-seven dollars.
"What"' exclaimed Artemus.
"That's my joke." said Goodman.
"But I was only exclaiming because it was not twice as much," returned Ward.
He paid it amid laughter, and they went out into the early morning air. It was fresh and fine outside, not yet light enough to see clearly. Artemus threw his face up to the sky and said:
"I feel glorious. I feel like walking on the roofs."
Virginia was built on the steep hillside, and the eaves of some of the houses almost touched the ground behind them.
"There is your chance, Artemus," Goodman said, pointing to a row of these houses all about of a height.
Artemus grabbed Mark Twain, and they stepped out upon the long string of roofs and walked their full length, arm in arm. Presently the others noticed a lonely policeman cocking his revolver and getting ready to aim in their direction. Goodman called to him:
"Wait a minute. What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to shoot those burglars," he said.
"Don't for your life. Those are not burglars. That's Mark Twain and Artemus Ward."
The roof-walkers returned, and the party went down the street to a corner across from the International Hotel. A saloon was there with a barrel lying in front, used, perhaps for a sort of sign. Artemus climbed astride the barrel, and somebody brought a beer-glass and put it in his hand.