October 9 Thursday – Sam and Livy left Susy at Bryn Mawr and traveled to New York. (They may have left the day before, Oct. 8, after receiving Young’s invitation, as Sam did not like to travel on the same day he was to give a speech.) In the evening, Sam gave this short humorous dinner speech at the Roger A. Pryor Dinner, Astor House:

I have often wondered how after-dinner talkers, such as we have heard tonight, manage to make such clever impromptu speeches. My impromptu speeches are all carefully prepared in advance, but I can’t understand how these other fellows manage the thing. Now there is Dougherty; he gets up with all the confidence which is generally inspired by the preparation of a month and he talks just as nicely and smoothly as though he had never thought about the matter before. When he comes to a place to heave in poetry he heaves her in, and when it is time for a story it comes right out. I am not so much surprised about Depew. He once asked me how I managed my impromptu speeches and I told him. I taught him the art and I sometimes wish I hadn’t. Henry George appears to have a faucet concealed somewhere about him, and he just turns it on and out the stuff flows.

There has been a good deal of war talk here tonight and I don’t appear to have been considered in it. I was in the Confederate Army. I was in it for two weeks. If Pryor had to fight through the whole war to get a position as judge, I suppose that, considering the difference in our abilities, if I had fought four weeks I would have made President, and if I had fought six weeks the war would have ended.

I am not much of a talker upon this kind of an occasion. You ought to allow me a discount. A few days ago I called at the office of George Putnam, the publisher. I was met by a very severe-looking clerk, who told me that Mr. Putnam wasn’t in. I knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t blame the young man, for I don’t think he liked the look of my clothes, but I thought as long as I had paid him a visit I would do some business with him, and I said I wanted to buy a book — a book of travel or something of that kind — and he handed me a volume which he said would cost me three dollars. I said to him: “I am a publisher myself, and I suppose you allow the usual publisher’s discount of 60 percent.” The young man looked absent-minded, but said nothing. Then I remarked: “I am also an author, and I suppose you allow the usual author’s discount of 30 percent.” The young man looked pale. I addressed him further: “I also belong to the human race, and I suppose you allow the usual discount to the human race of 10 percent.” The young man said nothing, but he took a pencil from behind his ear and made an arithmetical calculation and remarked: “After adding to that 5 percent discount for natural shyness, I find that the firm owes you fifteen cents.” So, gentlemen, if you allow me on my impromptu speech all the discounts which are properly due me, I think you will find that besides this dinner you are indebted to me about fifteen cents, and I hope the hat will be passed around and the amount collected [Fatout, MT Speaking 263-4].

Notes: Daniel Dougherty (1826-1892), lawyer, orator; Henry George (1839-1897) single tax advocate; George Haven Putnam (1844-1912), publisher, author, leader in the American Copyright League.

Sam wrote on Oct. 15 about time in the hotel after the dinner with Edwin Booth and Thomas Bailey Aldrich:

I smoked with him till midnight in his rooms four or five nights ago, and Aldrich and I tried to persuade him [to write a book; see Oct. 15 to Hall].

Daniel Whitford wrote to Sam, restating the facts of the House case. He closed with:

I understand that the play was very poorly set in Brooklyn [House’s version] and that the boy’s acting fell far below that of the girl [Elsie Leslie]. I am more than ever convinced that our policy is a waiting game. When they are through fighting it may result in a satisfactory settlement all round. If not we can try our case [MTP].