MARK ON THE BERLIN COPS
You know, of course, that Mark Twain at one time had a flat in Berlin and kept it going for a whole month. "I am tired of hotels," he said, "and hereafter I am going to take my comfort in my apartment as Dr. Johnson took his in his inn." After that he entertained the habitués of the embassy for a week or longer with stories of the beauties of home life, until we voted "Koernerstrasse Nr. 7 the jewel."
But one fine evening I found a note from him at the Hotel de Rome, asking me to call at the Royal at 8:00. I met him in the lobby with several sympathizing friends, and he said:
"It's all up with Koernerstrasse; too much police."
"Did you have burglars, or the bailiffs, in?" was asked.
"Neither; just social calls from policemen—ten per day. The cops weren't exactly unkind, but they annoyed me."
"What did they do to you?"
"Asked questions."
"Income queries?"
"Yes, of course, but I don't mind lying about little things like that. On the contrary, making a clean breast of it, I confessed that I get a whole cent a word for every word I do, even for little words like "I" or "Manafraidofhismotherinlaw." Did they believe me? Not they! They thought I was exaggerating."
"What did they ask about next?"
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