three of a neighbor’s negroes, but there was no proof, and, besides, the watermelons in those negroes’ private patches were all green and small and not up to indemnity standard.  But in the private patches of three other negroes there was a number of competent melons.  I consulted with my comrade, the understudy of the board.  He said that if I would approve his arrangements he would arrange.  I said, “Consider me the board; I approve; arrange.”  So he took a gun and went and collected three large melons for my brother-on-the- halfshell, and one over.  I was greatly pleased and asked: 

    “Who gets the extra one?”
    “Widows and orphans.”

    “A good idea, too.  Why didn’t you take thirteen?”

    “It would have been wrong; a crime, in fact-theft and extortion.”

    “What is the one-third extra—­the odd melon—­the same?”

    It caused him to reflect.  But there was no result.

    The justice of the peace was a stern man.  On the trial he found
    fault with the scheme and required us to explain upon what we based
    our strange conduct—­as he called it.  The understudy said: 

“On the custom of the niggers.  They all do it.”—­[The point had been made by the board that it was the Chinese custom to make the inhabitants of a village responsible for individual crimes; and custom, likewise, to collect a third in excess of the damage, such surplus having been applied to the support of widows and orphans of the slain converts.]

    The justice forgot his dignity and descended to sarcasm.

    “Custom of the niggers!  Are our morals so inadequate that we have
    to borrow of niggers?”

Then he said to the jury:  “Three melons were owing; they were collected from persons not proven to owe them:  this is theft; they were collected by compulsion:  this is extortion.  A melon was added for the widows and orphans.  It was owed by no one.  It is another theft, another extortion.  Return it whence it came, with the others.  It is not permissible here to apply to any purpose goods dishonestly obtained; not even to the feeding of widows and orphans, for this would be to put a shame upon charity and dishonor it.”

    He said it in open court, before everybody, and to me it did not
    seem very kind.

It was in the midst of the tumult that Clemens, perhaps feeling the need of sacred melody, wrote to Andrew Carnegie: 

Dear sir & friend,—­You seem to be in prosperity.  Could you lend an admirer $1.50 to buy a hymn-book with?  God will bless you.  I feel it; I know it.

N. B.—­If there should be other applications, this one not to count. 
                                Yours, Mark.

P. S.-Don’t send the hymn-book; send the money; I want to make the selection myself.

Carnegie answered: 

    Nothing less than a two-dollar & a half hymn-book gilt will do for
    you.  Your place in the choir (celestial) demands that & you shall
    have it.