Mark Twain was taken
by a friend to Whistler's studio, just as he was putting the finishing
touches to one of his fantastic studies. Confident of the usual
commendation, Whistler inquired his guest's opinion of the picture.
Mark Twain assumed the air of a connoisseur, and approaching the picture
remarked that it did very well, but "he didn't care much for that
cloud--"; and suiting the action to the word, appeared to be on the
point of rubbing the cloud with his gloved finger. In genuine horror,
Whistler exclaimed: "Don't touch it, the paint's wet!" "Oh, that's all
right," replied Mark with his characteristic drawl: "these aren't my
best gloves, anyhow!" Whereat Whistler recognized a congenial spirit,
and their first hearty laugh together was the beginning of a friendly
and congenial relationship.
I recall an incident in connection with the writing of his
Autobiography. On more than one occasion, he declared that the
Autobiography was going to be something awful--as caustic, fiendish, and
devilish as he could make it.
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