red thousand dollars' worth of this property
and take ten per cent in cash or the "property" for your trouble--the
latter, if you are wise, because the price I ask is a long way short of
the value.

What I call "property" is this. A small part of my ownership consists of
a royalty of $500 on every machine marketed under the American patents.
My selling-terms are, a permanent royalty of one dollar on every
American-marketed machine for a thousand dollars cash to me in hand
paid. We shan't market any fewer than 5,000 machines in 15 years--a
return of fifteen thousand dollars for one thousand. A royalty is better
than stock, in one way--it must be paid, every six months, rain or
shine; it is a debt, and must be paid before dividends are declared. By
and by, when we become a stock company I shall buy these royalties back
for stock if I can get them for anything like reasonable terms.

I have never borrowed a penny to use on the machine, and never sold a
penny's worth of the property until the machine was entirely finished
and proven by the severest tests to be what she started out to
be--perfect, permanent, and occupying the position, as regards all
kindred machines, which the City of Paris occupies as regards the
canvas-backs of the mercantile marine.

It is my purpose to sell two hundred dollars of my royalties at the
above price during the next two months and keep the other $300.

Mrs. Clemens begs Mrs. Goodman to come with you, and asks pardon for
not writing the message herself--which would be a pathetically-welcome
spectacle to me; for I have been her amanuensis for 8 months, now, since
her eyes failed her. Yours as always

MARK.

While this letter with its amazing contents is on its way to
astonish Joe Goodman, we will consider one of quite a different,
but equally characteristic sort. We may assume that Mark Twain's
sister Pamela had been visiting him in Hartford and was now making
a visit in Keokuk.

*****

To Mrs. Moffett, in Keokuk:

HARTFORD, Oct 9, '89.

DEAR PAMELA,--An hour after you left I was suddenly struck with a
realizing sense of the utter chuckle-headedness of that notion of mine:
to send your trunk after you. Land! it was idiotic. None but a lunatic
would, separate himself from his baggage.

Well, I am soulfully glad the baggage fetcher saved me from consummating
my insane i