Sketches New and Old First Interview with Artemus Ward
by Mark Twain
[Written about 1870.]
I had never seen him before. He brought letters of introduction from
mutual friends in San Francisco, and by invitation I breakfasted with
him. It was almost religion, there in the silver-mines, to precede such
a meal with whisky cocktails. Artemus, with the true cosmopolitan
instinct, always deferred to the customs of the country he was in, and so
he ordered three of those abominations. Hingston was present. I said I
would rather not drink a whisky cocktail. I said it would go right to my
head, and confuse me so that I would be in a helpless tangle in ten
minutes. I did not want to act like a lunatic before strangers. But
Artemus gently insisted, and I drank the treasonable mixture under
protest, and felt all the time that I was doing a thing I might be sorry
for. In a minute or two I began to imagine that my ideas were clouded.
I waited in great anxiety for the conversation to open, with a sort of
vague hope that my understanding would prove clear, after all, and my
misgivings groundless.
Artemus dropped an unimportant remark or two, and then assumed a look of
superhuman earnestness, and made the following astounding speech. He
said:
"Now there is one thing I ought to ask you about before I forget it. You
have been here in Silver land--here in Nevada--two or three years, and,
of course, your position on the daily press has made it necessary for you
to go down in the mines and examine them carefully in detail, and
therefore you know all about the silver-mining business. Now what I want
to get at is--is, well, the way the deposits of ore are made, you know.
For instance. Now, as I understand it, the vein which contains the
silver is sandwiched in between casings of granite, and runs along the
ground, and sticks up like a curb stone. Well, take a vein forty feet
thick, for example, or eighty, for that matter, or even a hundred--say
you go down on it with a shaft, straight down, you know, or with what you
call 'incline' maybe you go down five hundred feet, or maybe you don't go
down but two hundred--anyway, you go down, and all the time this vein
grows narrower, when the casings come nearer or approach each other, you
may say--that is, when they do approach, which, of course, they do not
always do, particularly in cases where the nature of the formation is
such that they stand apart wider than they otherwise would, and which
geology has failed to account for, although everything in that science
goes to prove that, all things being equal, it would if it did not, or
would not certainly if it did, and then, of course, they are. Do not you
think it is?"
I said to myself:
"Now I just knew how it would be--that whisky cocktail has done the
business for me; I don't understand any more than a clam."
And then I said aloud:
"I--I--that is--if you don't mind, would you--would you say that over
again? I ought--"
"Oh, certainly, certainly! You see I am very unfamiliar with the
subject, and perhaps I don't present my case clearly, but I--"
"No, no-no, no-you state it plain enough, but that cocktail has muddled
me a little. But I will no, I do understand for that matter; but I would
get the hang of it all the better if you went over it again-and I'll pay
better attention this time."
He said; "Why, what I was after was this."
[Here he became even more fearfully impressive than ever, and emphasized
each particular point by checking it off on his finger-ends.]
"This vein, or lode, or ledge, or whatever you call it, runs along
between two layers of granite, just the same as if it were a sandwich.
Very well. Now suppose you go down on that, say a thousand feet, or
maybe twelve hundred (it don't really matter) before you drift, and then
you start your drifts, some of them across the ledge, and others along
the length of it, where the sulphurets--I believe they call them
sulphurets, though why they should, considering that, so far as I can
see, the main dependence of a miner does not so lie, as some suppose, but
in which it cannot be successfully maintained, wherein the same should
not continue, while part and parcel of the same ore not committed to
either in the sense referred to, whereas, under different circumstances,
the most inexperienced among us could not detect it if it were, or might
overlook it if it did, or scorn the very idea of such a thing, even
though it were palpably demonstrated as such. Am I not right?"
I said, sorrowfully: "I feel ashamed of myself, Mr. Ward. I know I
ought to understand you perfectly well, but you see that treacherous
whisky cocktail has got into my head, and now I cannot understand even
the simplest proposition. I told you how it would be."
"Oh, don't mind it, don't mind it; the fault was my own, no doubt--though
I did think it clear enough for--"
"Don't say a word. Clear! Why, you stated it as clear as the sun to
anybody but an abject idiot; but it's that confounded cocktail that has
played the mischief."
"No; now don't say that. I'll begin it all over again, and--"
"Don't now--for goodness' sake, don't do anything of the kind, because I
tell you my head is in such a condition that I don't believe I could
understand the most trifling question a man could ask me.
"Now don't you be afraid. I'll put it so plain this time that you can't
help but get the hang of it. We will begin at the very beginning."
[Leaning far across the table, with determined impressiveness wrought
upon his every feature, and fingers prepared to keep tally of each point
enumerated; and I, leaning forward with painful interest, resolved to
comprehend or perish.] "You know the vein, the ledge, the thing that
contains the metal, whereby it constitutes the medium between all other
forces, whether of present or remote agencies, so brought to bear in
favor of the former against the latter, or the latter against the former
or all, or both, or compromising the relative differences existing within
the radius whence culminate the several degrees of similarity to which--"
I said: "Oh, hang my wooden head, it ain't any use!--it ain't any use to
try--I can't understand anything. The plainer you get it the more I
can't get the hang of it."
I heard a suspicious noise behind me, and turned in time to see Hingston
dodging behind a newspaper, and quaking with a gentle ecstasy of
laughter. I looked at Ward again, and he had thrown off his dread
solemnity and was laughing also. Then I saw that I had been sold--that I
had been made a victim of a swindle in the way of a string of plausibly
worded sentences that didn't mean anything under the sun. Artemus Ward
was one of the best fellows in the world, and one of the most
companionable. It has been said that he was not fluent in conversation,
but, with the above experience in my mind, I differ.