On another occasion he told me an amusing story of an experience he had had out in Missouri just after the end of the Civil War.  He had spent some weeks riding from county-seat to county-seat securing registration for a deed making title for a railroad.  One evening he was nearly drowned through his horse stumbling in the middle of a ford.  When he dragged himself up the bank on the other side, drenched to the skin and worried by the prospect of having to catch his mount, which had started off on a cross-country gallop, he saw an elderly farmer sitting on a tree stump, and watching him with intense interest and perfect seriousness.

This man put J. P. up for the night.  They got along famously for a while, but presently all was changed.

“The first thing he did,” said J. P., “was to take me to the farmhouse and hand me a tumbler three parts full of whisky.  When I refused this he looked at me as though he thought I was mad.  ’Yer mean ter tell me yer don’t drink?’ he said. (It was one of the rare occasions when I heard Mr. Pulitzer try to imitate any one’s peculiarities of speech.) When I told him no, I didn’t, he said nothing, but brought me food.

“After I had eaten he pulled out a plug of tobacco, bit off a large piece, and offered the plug to me.  I thanked him, but declined.  It took him some time to get over that, but at last he said:  ’Yer mean ter tell me yer don’t chew?’ I said no, I didn’t.  He dropped the subject, and for an hour or so we talked about the war and the crops and the proposed railroad.

“That man was a gentleman.  He didn’t take another drink or another chew of tobacco all that time.  The only sign he gave of his embarrassment was that every now and then during a pause in the conversation he fell to shaking his head in a puzzled sort of way.  Finally, before he went to bed, he produced a pipe, filled it, and handed the tobacco to me; but I failed him again, and he put his own pipe back in his pocket, firmly but sorrowfully.

“Well, my God! it was nearly half an hour before he spoke again, and I was beginning to think that I had really wounded his feelings by declining his hospitable offers, when he came over and stood in front of me and looked down on me with an expression of profound pity.  I shall never forget his words.  ‘Young feller,’ he said, ’you seem to be right smart and able for a furriner, but let me tell you, you’ll never make a successful American until yer learn to drink, and chew, and smoke.’”

Chatwold being within telephone distance of New York, J. P. was constantly subjected to the temptation of ringing up The World in order to discuss editorial or business matters.  He yielded too often, and the additional excitement and work incident to these conversations (which were always carried on through a third person) were a severe strain on his vitality.  When he was absolutely worn out he would take refuge on the yacht and steam out to sea for the purpose of enjoying a few days of comparative rest.