“How do you like that cigar I gave you?”
It seemed a matter of courtesy to express more enthusiasm than I really felt.
“Clara,” he called across to where the ladies were talking, “Mr. Orcutt likes these cigars of mine, and he’s a judge of good cigars.”
Then turning to me he continued, “Clara says they’re rotten!”
He relapsed into silence for a moment.
“How many of those cigars of yours have you on your person at the present time?”
I opened my cigar case, and disclosed four.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said suddenly. “You like my cigars and I like yours. I’ll swap you even!”
In the course of the afternoon Mark Twain told of a dinner that Andrew Carnegie had given in his New York home, at which Mr. Clemens had been a guest. He related with much detail how the various speakers had stammered and halted, and seemed to find themselves almost tongue-tied. His explanation of this was their feeling of embarrassment because of the presence of only one woman, Mrs. Carnegie.
Sir Sidney Lee, who was lecturing on Shakesperian subjects in America at the time, was the guest of honor. When dinner was announced, Carnegie sent for Archie, the piper, an important feature in the Carnegie ménage, who appeared in full kilts, and led the procession into the dining-room, playing on the pipes. Carnegie, holding Sir Sidney’s hand, followed directly after, giving an imitation of a Scotch dance, while the other guests fell in behind, matching the steps of their leader as closely as possible. Mark Twain gave John Burroughs credit for being the most successful in this attempt.