I told a valued friend of his and mine that I did not believe he
    could get twenty-five hundred dollars, and I think now I set the
    figure too high.

Clemens’s interest, however, grew.  He attended a dinner given to Gorky at the “A Club,” No. 3 Fifth Avenue, and introduced Gorky to the diners.  Also he wrote a letter to be read by Tchaykoffsky at a meeting held at the Grand Central Palace, where three thousand people gathered to hear this great revolutionist recite the story of Russia’s wrongs.  The letter ran: 

Dear Mr. Tchaykoffsky,—­My sympathies are with the Russian revolution, of course.  It goes without saying.  I hope it will succeed, and now that I have talked with you I take heart to believe it will.  Government by falsified promises, by lies, by treachery, and by the butcher-knife, for the aggrandizement of a single family of drones and its idle and vicious kin has been borne quite long enough in Russia, I should think.  And it is to be hoped that the roused nation, now rising in its strength, will presently put an end to it and set up the republic in its place.  Some of us, even the white-headed, may live to see the blessed day when tsars and grand dukes will be as scarce there as I trust they are in heaven. 
       Most sincerely yours,
Mark Twain.

Clemens and Howells called on Gorky and agreed to figure prominently in a literary dinner to be given in his honor.  The movement was really assuming considerable proportions, when suddenly something happened which caused it to flatten permanently, and rather ridiculously.

Arriving at 21 Fifth Avenue, one afternoon, I met Howells coming out.  I thought he had an unhappy, hunted look.  I went up to the study, and on opening the door I found the atmosphere semi-opaque with cigar smoke, and Clemens among the drifting blue wreaths and layers, pacing up and down rather fiercely.  He turned, inquiringly, as I entered.  I had clipped a cartoon from a morning paper, which pictured him as upsetting the Tsar’s throne—­the kind of thing he was likely to enjoy.  I said: 

“Here is something perhaps you may wish to see, Mr. Clemens.”

He shook his head violently.

“No, I can’t see anything now,” and in another moment had disappeared into his own room.  Something extraordinary had happened.  I wondered if, after all their lifelong friendship, he and Howells had quarreled.  I was naturally curious, but it was not a good time to investigate.  By and by I went down on the street, where the newsboys were calling extras.  When I had bought one, and glanced at the first page, I knew.  Gorky had been expelled from his hotel for having brought to America, as his wife, a woman not so recognized by the American laws.  Madame Andreieva, a Russian actress, was a leader in the cause of freedom, and by Russian custom her relation with Gorky was recognized and respected; but it was not sufficiently orthodox for American conventions, and it was certainly unfortunate that an apostle of high purpose should come handicapped in that way.  Apparently the news had already reached Howells and Clemens, and they had been feverishly discussing what was best to do about the dinner.