Perhaps Hall did not even go to see Carnegie; at all events nothing seems to have come of the idea.  Once, at a later time, Mask Twain himself mentioned the matter to Carnegie, and suggested to him that it was poor financiering to put all of one’s eggs into one basket, meaning into iron.  But Carnegie answered, “That’s a mistake; put all your eggs into one basket and watch that basket.”

It was March when Clemens felt that once more his presence was
demanded in America.  He must see if anything could be realized from
the type-setter or L. A. L.

To Fred J. Hall, in New York: 

March 13, ’93. 
Dear Mr. Hall,—­I am busy getting ready to sail the 22d, in the Kaiser
Wilhelm II.

I send herewith 2 magazine articles.

The Story contains 3,800 to 4,000 words.

The “Diary” contains 3,800 words.

Each would make about 4 pages of the Century.

The Diary is a gem, if I do say it myself that shouldn’t.

If the Cosmopolitan wishes to pay $600 for either of them or $1,200 for both, gather in the check, and I will use the money in America instead of breaking into your treasury.

If they don’t wish to trade for either, send the articles to the Century, without naming a price, and if their check isn’t large enough I will call and abuse them when I come.

I signed and mailed the notes yesterday. 
                                        Yours
                                             S. L. C.

Clemens reached New York on the 3d of April and made a trip to Chicago, but accomplished nothing, except to visit the World’s Fair and be laid up with a severe cold.  The machine situation had not progressed.  The financial stringency of 1893 had brought everything to a standstill.  The New York bank would advance Webster & Co. no more money.  So disturbed were his affairs, so disordered was everything, that sometimes he felt himself as one walking amid unrealities.  A fragment of a letter to Mrs. Crane conveys this: 

“I dreamed I was born and grew up and was a pilot on the Mississippi and a miner and a journalist in Nevada and a pilgrim in the Quaker City, and had a wife and children and went to live in a villa at Florence—­and this dream goes on and on and sometimes seems so real that I almost believe it is real.  I wonder if it is?  But there is no way to tell, for if one applies tests they would be part of the dream, too, and so would simply aid the deceit.  I wish I knew whether it is a dream or real.”

He saw Warner, briefly, in America; also Howells, now living in New York, but he had little time for visiting.  On May 13th he sailed again for Europe on the Kaiser Wilhelm II.  On the night before sailing he sent Howells a good-by word.

To W. D. Howells, in New York City: 

Murrayhill hotel, new Yore, May 12, 1893. 
Midnight. 
Dear Howells—­I am so sorry I missed you.