One of Mark's fellow-townsmen once confessed: "Yes, I knew him
when he was a boy. He was a printer's devil--I think that's what they
called him--and they didn't miss it." At a banquet some years ago, Mark
Twain aptly described at length his experiences as a printer's
apprentice. There were a thousand and one menial services he was called
upon to perform. If the subscribers paid at all, it was only sometimes
--and then the town subscribers paid in groceries, the country
subscribers in cabbages and cordwood. If they paid, they were puffed in
the paper; and if the editor forgot to insert the puff, the subscriber
stopped the paper! Every subscriber regarded himself as assistant
editor, ex officio; gave orders as to how the paper was to be edited,
supplied it with opinions, and directed its policy. Of course, every
time the editor failed to follow his suggestions, he revenged himself by
stopping the paper!
After some financial stress, the paper was moved into the Clemens home,
a "two-story brick"; and here for several years it managed to worry
along, spasmodically hovering between life and death.
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