Henry W. Fischer, Abroad with Mark Twain and Eugene Field
“ Some time in 1921, I met him on Broadway, New York. “Hello, Fisher,” says I, “where have you been, what are you doing, and where are those flowing whiskers you used to sport?”“Hello, Johnson,” replied Fisher, peering at me through his thick glasses, “I am just back from London, the air raids scared off my whiskers, and my eyesight has become so bad, I am only fit to be a ‘dictator’ now.”“Well,” says I, continuing our conversation of many years ago, “where are those Mark Twain yarns you promised me?” ”
