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Complete Short Stories of Mark Twain (Bantam Classics) Mass Market Paperback – March 1, 1984


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Product Details

  • Mass Market Paperback: 848 pages
  • Publisher: Bantam Classics; Revised edition (March 1, 1984)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0553211951
  • ISBN-13: 978-0553211955
  • Product Dimensions: 7.1 x 4.3 x 1.4 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 12.8 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
  • Average Customer Review: 4.3 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (26 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #48,244 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

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About the Author

Mark Twain was born Samuel Langhorne Clemens in 1835. He gained national attention as a humorist in 1865 with the publication of "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County," but was acknowledged as a great writer by the literary establishment with The Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn (1885). In 1880, Twain began promoting and financing the ill-fated Paige typesetter, an invention designed to make the printing process fully automatic. At the height of his naively optimistic involvement in the technological "wonder" that nearly drove him to bankruptcy, he published his satire, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (1889). Plagued by personal tragedy and financial failure, Mark Twain spent the last years of his life in gloom and exasperation, writing fables about "the damned human race."

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

THE NOTORIOUS JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY


IN COMPLIANCE with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking suspicion that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured that if I asked old Wheeler about him, it would remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, and he would go to work and bore me to death with some exasperating reminiscence of him as long and as tedious as it should be useless to me. If that was the design, it succeeded.

I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the barroom stove of the dilapidated tavern in the decayed mining camp of Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat and baldheaded, and had an expression of winning gentleness and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up, and gave me good day. I told him that a friend of mine had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood named Leonidas W. Smiley--Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of Angel's Camp. I added that if Mr. Wheeler could tell me anything about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to him.

Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his chair, and then sat down and reeled off the monotonous narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned his initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me plainly that, so far from his imagining that there was anything ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent genius in finesse. I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once.

"Rev. Leonidas W. H'm, Reverend Le--well, there was a feller here once by the name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49--or maybe it was the spring of '50--I don't recollect exactly, somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big flume warn't finished when he first come to the camp; but anyway, he was the curiousest man about always betting on anything that turned up you ever see, if he could get anybody to bet on the other side; and if he couldn't he'd change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit him--any way just so's he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He was always ready and laying for a chance; there couldn't be no solit'ry thing mentioned but that feller'd offer to bet on it, and take ary side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a horse-race, you'd find him flush or you'd find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he'd bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if there was a camp-meeting, he would be there reg'lar to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about here, and so he was too, and a good man. If he even see a straddle-bug start to go anywheres, he would bet you how long it would take him to get to--to wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would foller that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him--he'd bet on any thing--the dangdest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they warn't going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley up and asked him how she was, and he said she was considerable better--thank the Lord for his inf'nite mercy--and coming on so smart that with the blessing of Prov'dence she'd get well yet; and Smiley, before he thought, says, 'Well, I'll resk two-and-a-half she don't anyway.'

"Thish-yer Smiley had a mare--the boys called her the fifteen-minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because of course she was faster than that--and he used to win money on that horse, for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or three hundred yards' start, and then pass her under way; but always at the fag end of the race she'd get excited and desperate like, and come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side among the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust and raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose--and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cipher it down.

"And he had a little small bull-pup, that to look at him you'd think he warn't worth a cent but to set around and look ornery and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him he was a different dog; his under-jaw'd begin to stick out like the fo'castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover and shine like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him and bully-rag him, and bite him, and throw him over his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson--which was the name of the pup--Andrew Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and hadn't expected nothing else--and the bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze to it--not chaw, you understand, but only just grip and hang on till they throwed up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed a dog once that didn't have no hind legs, because they'd been sawed off in a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet holt, he see in a minute how he'd been imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no more to win the fight, and so he got shucked out bad. He give Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that hadn't no hind legs for him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in a fight, and then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him and he had genius--I know it, because he hadn't no opportunities to speak of, and it don't stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight as he could under them circumstances if he hadn't no talent. It always makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his'n, and the way it turned out.

"Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and tomcats and all them kind of things, till you couldn't rest, and you couldn't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'lated to educate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet you he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut--see him turn one summerset, or maybe a couple, if he got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of ketching flies, and kep' him in practice so constant, that he'd nail a fly every time as fur as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do 'most anything--and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor--Dan'l Webster was the name of the frog--and sing out, 'Flies, Dan'l, flies!' and quicker'n you could wink he'd spring straight up and snake a fly off'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor ag'in as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he hadn't no idea he'd been doin' any more'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straightfor'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywheres all said he laid over any frog that ever they see.

"Well, Smiley kep' the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him down-town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller--a stranger in the camp, he was--come acrost him with his box, and says:

" 'What might it be that you've got in the box?'

"And Smiley says, sorter indifferent-like, 'It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, maybe, but it ain't--it's only just a frog.'

"And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, 'H'm--so 'tis. Well, what's he good for?'

" 'Well,' Smiley says, easy and careless, 'he's good enough for one thing, I should judge--he can outjump any frog in Calaveras County.'

"The feller took the box again, and took another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, 'Well,' he says, 'I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog.'

"...

More About the Author

Mark Twain (1835-1910) was an American humorist, satirist, social critic, lecturer and novelist. He is mostly remembered for his classic novels The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

Customer Reviews

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I am enjoying reading them.
Robert C. Dunston
Though most famous for novels and non-fiction, Mark Twain is one of the all-time great short story writers.
Bill R. Moore
It is Mark Twain at his most clever and fun level of prowess.
Snoopet

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

116 of 136 people found the following review helpful By Greg Blonder on February 6, 2003
Format: Mass Market Paperback
Don't buy this book! The stories, of course, are classic Mark Twain- one of the most thoughtful, humorous, and clear thinking writers ever born. But the Bantam edition is unreadable.
To save money, the margins run from 1/4 to 1/8 an inch. Not too bad on the outside edges, but on the inside edge near the spine the words are nearly hidden by the curve of the page. Either you break the spine to read the words, or you are forced to slide your thumb along the inner edge to reveal Twain's words. Find another edition.
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21 of 22 people found the following review helpful By A Customer on July 26, 1997
Format: Mass Market Paperback
This inexpensive book of over 600 pages offers an incredible value for anyone who enjoy Mark Twain's quintessential humor. It is one of those books that you cannot put down once you get started on it. A great way to while away a hot summer afternoon
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46 of 57 people found the following review helpful By asphlex on October 30, 1998
Format: Mass Market Paperback
This is an important book in American literature. This collection truly shows off the massive range that Mark Twain had. From the author of books as divergant as Huck Finn and Joan of Arc, to the humorous travel writings and all the way past the bitter, hateful scribblings of his later life.
These are some of the highlights, as I see it:
"The Story of the Bad Little Boy", an early version of Twain's comprehenisive pessism and it proves that there is really no such thing. There's optimism and there's realism. "A Day at Niagra", an obvious parody of his own early newpaper feature writing. Perhaps it was an abandoned assignment on a trip to the falls and Twain had such a bad time he wrote this vicious, sarcastic piece. There are numerous other wonderful stories along the way, hilarious, mean-spirited, touching, beautiful, gently humorous and smile factoring. After the dreadful 1890s of Twain's life (lost a wife, a daughter, a fortune and another kid got sick), sometimes a few of the stories are near-misses. Still always amusing, but something is missing. Then, at recurring times over the last decade of his life, Mark Twain got angry. He popped the blister that became "The Man That Corrupted Hadleyberg", a brutal profile of mankind's inate greed and selfishness and how there will always be someone out there to laugh and enjoy your misery. "The $30,000 Bequest" is a heart-breaking tale about delusion and wasted lives, and how even the thought of money corrupts absolutely. "Captain Stormfield's Visit to Heaven" is a mercilessly blasphemous account of Heaven being no different, really, from the earth, the same classist behavior, the same tragic dreams of a better life never to be had.
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6 of 6 people found the following review helpful By D. Blankenship HALL OF FAMETOP 50 REVIEWER on September 11, 2006
Format: Hardcover
This is a wonderful collection of the short stories of Mark Twain with and introduction by Charles Neider. As far as I know, this is the first time all of these wonderful stories have been brought together in one book. This collection contains sixty (60) short stories. They are all pure Twain. Far be it from me to cast any stones at this particular author, one of my favorites, so I won't. Some of the stories are better than others and some will appeal to different readers in different ways. This is a great one to add to your library. Recommend it highly.
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5 of 5 people found the following review helpful By jacqpote on September 23, 2010
Format: Mass Market Paperback
This volume claims to present the complete short stories of Mark Twain. It contains sixty stories but is far from being complete.
Indeed in other editions I have collected thirty-three more tales, some of them absolutely extraordinary, and worthy to be anthologized.
For instance 'Mr Bloke's item' published in 1865 seems completely forgotten. But one of the funniest stories I know.
Nevertheless this book is very entertaining, if not complete.
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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful By Burke55 on August 13, 2010
Format: Mass Market Paperback
This is a great collection of Twain's short story "song book". To agree with one review, the way in which it is published does make some of the stories in the middle of the book hard to read, and to disagree with another, this is a collection of sixty short stories so do not base you opinion of Twain's work on one cynical story with the simple message of "Life's not fair".

The collection really helps to give great insight on Twain's progression as a writer and thinker and is a great read for any person interested in American Fiction.
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3 of 4 people found the following review helpful By Bill R. Moore on March 1, 2010
Format: Mass Market Paperback
Though most famous for novels and non-fiction, Mark Twain is one of the all-time great short story writers. His shorts are indeed as essential as his other work. This magnificent collection is currently the most popular - not to mention the most comprehensive that can be easily found -, making it one of the few works that truly belongs on everyone's bookshelf.

It has sixty stories over nearly 700 pages, arranged chronologically and covering Twain's whole writing career. Included are some of the most famous and best short stories ever, such as "The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County," "The Stolen White Elephant," "Luck," "The One Million Pound Bank-Note," "The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg," "A Dog's Tale," "Extract from Captain Stormfield's Visit to Heaven," and "The Mysterious Stranger." It also has some of my personal favorites like "A Double-Barreled Detective Story" and "Was It Heaven? Or Hell?" The quality and variety is simply astonishing; it is hard to believe a single person could produce such greatness, and to have it all in one book is simply incredible. One of the most fascinating things is to see how Twain's stories grew darker. Though often sharply satirical, early pieces are nearly all light-hearted and often comical - some of the more memorably pleasant light reading in existence. However, Twain became ever more embittered, and his stories - some of which he dared not have published while alive - clearly reflect this. Dark masterpieces like "Hadleyburg" and "The Mysterious" seethe with misanthropy and deep pessimism. The contrast is nothing less than stunning and sometimes makes transitions awkward, but the chronological approach is still the best way to appreciate the breadth of Twain's accomplishment.
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