Alonzo Fitz, and Other Stories

  AN ENCOUNTER WITH AN INTERVIEWER

  The nervous, dapper, "peart" young man took the chair I offered him, andsaid he was connected with the Daily Thunderstorm, and added:

  "Hoping it's no harm, I've come to interview you."

  "Come to what?"

  "Interview you."

  "Ah! I see. Yes--yes. Um! Yes--yes."

  I was not feeling bright that morning. Indeed, my powers seemed a bitunder a cloud. However, I went to the bookcase, and when I had beenlooking six or seven minutes I found I was obliged to refer to the youngman. I said:--

  "How do you spell it?"

  "Spell what?"

  "Interview."

  "Oh, my goodness! what do you want to spell it for?"

  "I don't want to spell it; I want to see what it means."

  "Well, this is astonishing, I must say. I can tell you what it means, ifyou--if you--"

  "Oh, all right! That will answer, and much obliged to you, too."

  "In, in, ter, ter, inter--"

  "Then you spell it with an I?"

  "Why certainly!"

  "Oh, that is what took me so long."

  "Why, my dear sir, what did you propose to spell it with?"

  "Well, I--I--hardly know. I had the Unabridged, and I was cipheringaround in the back end, hoping I might tree her among the pictures. Butit's a very old edition."

  "Why, my friend, they wouldn't have a picture of it in even the lateste---- My dear sir, I beg your pardon, I mean no harm in the world, butyou do not look as--as--intelligent as I had expected you would. Noharm--I mean no harm at all."

  "Oh, don't mention it! It has often been said, and by people who wouldnot flatter and who could have no inducement to flatter, that I am quiteremarkable in that way. Yes--yes; they always speak of it with rapture."

  "I can easily imagine it. But about this interview. You know it is thecustom, now, to interview any man who has become notorious."

  "Indeed, I had not heard of it before. It must be very interesting. Whatdo you do it with?"

  "Ah, well--well--well--this is disheartening. It ought to be done witha club in some cases; but customarily it consists in the interviewerasking questions and the interviewed answering them. It is all the ragenow. Will you let me ask you certain questions calculated to bring outthe salient points of your public and private history?"

  "Oh, with pleasure--with pleasure. I have a very bad memory, but Ihope you will not mind that. That is to say, it is an irregularmemory--singularly irregular. Sometimes it goes in a gallop, and thenagain it will be as much as a fortnight passing a given point. This is agreat grief to me."

  "Oh, it is no matter, so you will try to do the best you can."

  "I will. I will put my whole mind on it."

  "Thanks. Are you ready to begin?"

  "Ready."

  Q. How old are you?

  A. Nineteen, in June.

  Q. Indeed. I would have taken you to be thirty-five or six. Where wereyou born?

  A. In Missouri.

  Q. When did you begin to write?

  A. In 1836.

  Q. Why, how could that be, if you are only nineteen now?

  A. I don't know. It does seem curious, somehow.

  Q. It does, indeed. Whom do you consider the most remarkable man youever met?

  A. Aaron Burr.

  Q. But you never could have met Aaron Burr, if you are only nineteenyears!--

  A. Now, if you know more about me than I do, what do you ask me for?

  Q. Well, it was only a suggestion; nothing more. How did you happen tomeet Burr?

  A. Well, I happened to be at his funeral one day, and he asked me tomake less noise, and--

  Q. But, good heavens! if you were at his funeral, he must have beendead, and if he was dead how could he care whether you made a noise ornot?

  A. I don't know. He was always a particular kind of a man that way.

  Q. Still, I don't understand it at all. You say he spoke to you, andthat he was dead.

  A. I didn't say he was dead.

  Q. But wasn't he dead?

  A. Well, some said he was, some said he wasn't.

  Q. What did you think?

  A. Oh, it was none of my business! It wasn't any of my funeral.

  Q. Did you--However, we can never get this matter straight. Let me askabout something else. What was the date of your birth?

  A. Monday, October 31, 1693.

  Q. What! Impossible! That would make you a hundred and eighty years old.How do you account for that?

  A. I don't account for it at all.

  Q. But you said at first you were only nineteen, and now you makeyourself out to be one hundred and eighty. It is an awful discrepancy.

  A. Why, have you noticed that? (Shaking hands.) Many a time it hasseemed to me like a discrepancy, but somehow I couldn't make up my mind.How quick you notice a thing!

  Q. Thank you for the compliment, as far as it goes. Had you, or haveyou, any brothers or sisters?

  A. Eh! I--I--I think so--yes--but I don't remember.

  Q. Well, that is the most extraordinary statement I ever heard!

  A. Why, what makes you think that?

  Q. How could I think otherwise? Why, look here! Who is this a picture ofon the wall? Isn't that a brother of yours?

  A. Oh, yes, yes, yes! Now you remind me of it; that was a brother ofmine. That's William--Bill we called him. Poor old Bill!

  Q. Why? Is he dead, then?

  A. Ah! well, I suppose so. We never could tell. There was a greatmystery about it.

  Q. That is sad, very sad. He disappeared, then?

  A. Well, yes, in a sort of general way. We buried him--

  Q. Buried him! Buried him, without knowing whether he was dead or not?

  A. Oh, no! Not that. He was dead enough.

  Q. Well, I confess that I can't understand this. If you buried him, andyou knew he was dead.

  A. No! no! We only thought he was.

  Q. Oh, I see! He came to life again?

  A. I bet he didn't.

  Q. Well, I never heard anything like this. Somebody was dead. Somebodywas buried. Now, where was the mystery?

  A. Ah! that's just it! That's it exactly. You see, we weretwins--defunct and I--and we got mixed in the bathtub when we were onlytwo weeks old, and one of us was drowned. But we didn't know which. Somethink it was Bill. Some think it was me.

  Q. Well, that is remarkable. What do you think?

  A. Goodness knows! I would give whole worlds to know. This solemn, thisawful mystery has cast a gloom over my whole life. But I will tell youa secret now, which I never have revealed to any creature before. One ofus had a peculiar mark--a large mole on the back of his left hand; thatwas me. That child was the one that was drowned!

  Q. Very well, then, I don't see that there is any mystery about it,after all.

  A. You don't? Well, I do. Anyway, I don't see how they could ever havebeen such a blundering lot as to go and bury the wrong child. But,'sh!--don't mention it where the family can hear of it. Heaven knowsthey have heartbreaking troubles enough without adding this.

  Q. Well, I believe I have got material enough for the present, and I amvery much obliged to you for the pains you have taken. But I was a gooddeal interested in that account of Aaron Burr's funeral. Would you mindtelling me what particular circumstance it was that made you think Burrwas such a remarkable man?

  A. Oh! it was a mere trifle! Not one man in fifty would have noticed itat all. When the sermon was over, and the procession all ready to startfor the cemetery, and the body all arranged nice in the hearse, he saidhe wanted to take a last look at the scenery, and so he got up and rodewith the driver.

  Then the young man reverently withdrew. He was very pleasant company,and I was sorry to see him go.