Hotels help to scatter the seed, but literatoor scatters more.
"One day, down there at Franklin, Eliph' says to me, 'Jim, you know that book pa wrote ?' That's what Eliph' remarked to me on the aforesaid day, but I wish to state his name wasn't Eliph' on that date, an' it wasn't Hewlitt, neither.

It was plain Sammy; Sammy Mills.

Eliph' Hewlitt was a sort of fancy name my pa had give to a horse he had that he thought was a racer, but wasn't.

It was a good enough horse to enter in a race, but not good enough to win.

It was the kind of race horse that kept pa poor, but hopeful.
"'Why, yes, Sammy,' I says, 'I've heard tell of that grand literary effort of your dad.' "'Well,' he says--we was sittin' on the porch of his pa's house--'Pa he had a thousand of them printed.' "'Dickens he did!' I remarked, supposin' it was us to me to do some remarkin'.
"'And,' says Sammy, 'he's got eight hundred an' sixty-four of them highly improvin' an' intellectooal volumes stored in the barn right now.' "'Quite a lib'ry,' I says, off-hand like.
"'Numerous, but monotonous,' says Sam.