And it seemed a pity that these people should do these fictions in such a place--right in the church--when it was quite plain they were not interested in the sermon at all; they only wanted to get a near view of his head.
Well, Harris said--no, Harris didn't say, _I_ say, that as the days went on and Sunday followed Sunday, the interest in Harris's hair grew and grew; because it didn't stay merely and monotonously green, it took on deeper and deeper shades of green; and then it would change and become reddish, and would go from that to some other color--purplish, yellowish, bluish, and so on--but it was never a solid color.

It was always mottled.

And each Sunday it was a little more interesting than it was the Sunday before--and Harris's head became famous, and people came from New York, and Boston, and South Carolina, and Japan, and so on, to look.

There wasn't seating-capacity for all the people that came while his head was undergoing these various and fascinating mottlings.

And it was a good thing in several ways, because the business had been languishing a little, and now a lot of people joined the church so that they could have the show, and it was the beginning of a prosperity for that church which has never diminished in all these years.
MARK TWAIN.
(_To be Continued._) NORTH AMERICAN REVIEW No.