He had taken off his clothes and was lying down, reading. After a little he got up and began walking up and down the room. Presently he stopped and, facing me, placed his hand upon his breast. He said:
"I think I must have caught a little cold yesterday on that Fifth Avenue stage. I have a curious pain in my breast."
I suggested that he lie down again and I would fill his hot-water bag. The pain passed away presently, and he seemed to be dozing. I stepped into the next room and busied myself with some writing. By and by I heard him stirring again and went in where he was. He was walking up and down and began talking of some recent ethnological discoveries —something relating to prehistoric man.
"What a fine boy that prehistoric man must have been," he said—"the very first one! Think of the gaudy style of him, how he must have lorded it over those other creatures, walking on his hind legs, waving his arms, practising and getting ready for the pulpit."
The fancy amused him, but presently he paused in his walk and again put his hand on his breast, saying:
"That pain has come back. It's a curious, sickening, deadly kind of pain. I never had anything just like it."
It seemed to me that his face had become rather gray. I said:
"Where is it, exactly, Mr. Clemens?"
He laid his hand in the center of his breast and said:
"It is here, and it is very peculiar indeed."