NOTEBOOK

Mrs. Clemens was pouring the coffee this morning: I
unfolded the Neue Freiepresse, began to read a paragraph
and said—

"They have found a new way to tell genuine gems
from false------"

"By the Roentgen Ray," she exclaimed.

That is what I was going to say. She had not seen the
paper and there had been no talk about the ray, or gems,
by herself or by me. It was a plain case of telegraphy.

Story of little Satan Jr. who came to Hannibal, went
to school, was popular and greatly liked by those who
knew his secret. The others were jealous and the girls
didn't like him because he smelled of brimstone. He was
always doing miracles—his pals knew they were miracles,
the others thought they were mysteries.

This is a more definite hint of the story of
The Mysterious Stranger which he presently
began and partly finished, in three different
forms. Just when he finished it is not certain.
The writer of these lines recalls a day in 1909
when Mark Twain, pointing to a drawer con-
taining some manuscripts, said: "There are a few
things there which might be published, if I could
finish them; but I shall never do it, now. There
is one, The Mysterious Stranger, that I could
finish very easily, almost any time. Perhaps I
shall do that one, and then some day you can
get it in shape for publication." He died the fol-
lowing April. So far as I then knew he had not
added anything to the story, which it seemed he
had undertaken in several forms. But two or three
years later, among some loose papers, I found
that amazing final chapter, of the best version,
probably written (and forgotten, for his mem-
ory had become very uncertain) about the time

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