MARK TWAIN

That is to say, his publishing enterprise so
magnificently started by the Grant Life—had
been steadily going down hill ever since. Fur-
thermore, all his available cash—all he could earn
and borrow—was going into the type machine. It
was easy to sec that "the business must be brought
to an end by Feb. i," but it would go on steadily
declining for another six years after that—it
would take the panic of '93 and '94 to give it its
final quietus.

November 23, 1888. At noon, was coming up a back
street; two poorly dressed girls, one about ten, the other
twelve or thirteen years old, were just behind me; was
attracted by the musical voice of the elder one and slowed
down my gait to listen; by and by the younger said—
"Yonder they are"—"Where?" "Way down the street—
don't you sec?" The elder threw back her head and
gushed out a liquid "hoo-oo-oo-ooh!"—The most melodi-
ous note that ever issued from human lips, it seemed to
me. Nothing has equaled it in my hearing, but the rich
note of the woodthrush. I resolved to track that child
home—and did. She entered a poor frame dwelling next
to and north of a frame building that had a sign "Si-
gourncy Tool Co." on its front. Then I followed the
younger girl home, at least to a house in front of John
Hooker's grounds. So I shall be able to find one or the
other, by and by. I mean to educate that girl's voice. She
will make a stir in the world sure.

One wonders if he ever remembered it again.
He had many such impulses—some of them he
followed to fulfillment. He had educated Ger-
hardt, discovered quite accidentally; he had pro-
vided money for the dramatic education of Wil-
liam Gillette, and there were other instances of
the sort. But the drain upon him was very heavy
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