But for several days Mark didn't show up at his usual haunts, and even Mr. Phelps, the American Minister in Berlin, didn't know what had become of him. The telephone was but sparingly used then in the legation offices. However, on the third or fourth day, Mr. Phelps learned that Mark was down with bronchitis at his hotel, the Royal, and that when he wasn't sneezing or coughing, ennui plagued him sadly.
"Well," I said, "I have got something to liven him up," and showed Mr. Phelps the manuscript. He advised me to send it at once to the Royal, but when I called on Mark Twain a week later and inquired sotto voce whether he had received the manuscript, he said:
"Of course not. The wife got it and you know she won't let me read anything but tracts. I suppose she burnt our MS."
"Well," I said, "I have got a carbon and I will let you have that by and by."
"Not while I'm at home," he said, "for now she is on the scent, she will watch out. She is dreadfully afraid that some one may corrupt me."
Mark remained indoors for over a month, the thing was forgotten, and later, when he asked for the manuscript, I couldn't find it. Other interests came up and Schopenhauer was shelved, though at the time we made the find, Mark speculated on getting a book out of it by amplifying it with other writings of
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