nwall, reached New York on the 28th, anda day or two later had delivered his manuscript at Hartford. Glancing back as he headed Risha toward the hills, he saw that Moonlight had broken into her long, smooth gallop. Two of the sketches in particular he thought promising. Clemens could not look at the scenery any more forwatching his fellow-passenger, waiting with a fascinated interest for theparagraph that would break up that iron-clad solemnity.
His final words were not addressed to me; they were the old querulous grumble, as if he were thinking aloud. Of course not. Hementioned this apparent slight to Steve Gillis: Nobody ever gives me a meerschaum pipe, he said, plaintively. John was beloved by everybody in Edinburgh, everybodyin Scotland, for that matter, and his story of Rab had won him afollowing throughout Christendom.
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