The Celebrated Jumping Frog of

Calaveras County
by Mark Twain

Twain's story was first published in The Saturday Press on Nov. 18, 1865. It was republished in The
Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, and Other Sketches in 1867 by Harper &
Brothers.
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; and 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 bald-headed, and had an expression of winning gentleness
and simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up, and gave me
good-day. I told him a friend 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 may be 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 came to the camp; but any way, 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 any 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 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 dangest 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'nit' 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
risk 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 amongst
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 gave 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 tom-cats and
all of 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 may be 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 downtown 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 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."

"Maybe you don't," Smiley says. "Maybe you understand frogs and maybe you
don't understand 'em; maybe you've had experience, and maybe you ain't
only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got my opinion and I'll risk forty
dollars that he can outjump any frog in Calaveras County."

And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, "Well, I'm only
a stranger here, and I ain't got no frog; but if I had a frog, I'd bet you."

And then Smiley says, "That's all right--that's all right--if you'll hold my box a
minute, I'll go and get you a frog." And so the feller took the box, and put up
his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set down to wait.

So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to his-self, and then he got
the frog out and prized his mouth open and took a teaspoon and filled him full
of quail shot--filled! him pretty near up to his chin--and set him on the floor.
Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time,
and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller,
and says:
"Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his forepaws just even
with Dan'l's, and I'll give the word." Then he says, "One--two--three--git!" and
him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped
off lively, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders--so--like a
Frenchman, but it warn't no use--he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid
as a church, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley
was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no
idea what the matter was, of course.

The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at
the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulder--so--at Dan'l, and says
again, very deliberate, "Well," he says, "I don't see no p'ints about that frog
that's any better'n any other frog."
 Smiley he stood scratching
his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last says, "I do wonder
what in the nation that frog throwed off for--I wonder if there ain't something
the matter with him--he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he
ketched Dan'l up by the nap of the neck, and hefted him, and says, "Why
blame my cats if he don't weigh five pounds!" and turned him upside down
and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and
he was the maddest man--he set the frog down and took out after that feller,
but he never ketched him. And----
(Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to
see what was wanted.) And turning to me as he moved away, he said: "Just
set where you are, stranger, and rest easy--I ain't going to be gone a second."

But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the
enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much
information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I started away.

At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed me and
recommenced:

"Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller, one-eyed cow that didn't have no tail, only
jest a short stump like a bannanner, and----"

However, lacking both time and inclination, I did not wait to hear about the
afflicted cow, but took my leave.

The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County  was featured as  The Short Story of the
Day on  Mon, Nov 18, 2019

You might also enjoy this interesting story about a trouble-making wager involving
animals: W.W. Jacobs's Watch-Dogs.

                 
6.8

           
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