He was writing a book with Warner at this time—­The Gilded Age —­the two authors having been challenged by their wives one night at dinner to write a better book than the current novels they had been discussing with some severity.  Clemens already had a story in his mind, and Warner agreed to collaborate in the writing.  It was begun without delay.  Clemens wrote the first three hundred and ninety-nine pages, and read there aloud to Warner, who took up the story at this point and continued it through twelve chapters, after which they worked alternately, and with great enjoyment.  They also worked rapidly, and in April the story was completed.  For a collaboration by two men so different in temperament and literary method it was a remarkable performance.

Another thing Mark Twain did that winter was to buy some land on Farmington Avenue and begin the building of a home.  He had by no means given up returning to England, and made his plans to sail with Mrs. Clemens and Susy in May.  Miss Clara Spaulding, of Elmira —­[Later Mrs. John B. Stanchfield, of New York.]—­a girlhood friend of Mrs. Clemens—­was to accompany them.

The Daily Graphic heard of the proposed journey, and wrote, asking
for a farewell word.  His characteristic reply is the only letter of
any kind that has survived from that spring.

         To the Editor of “The Daily Graphic,” in New York City: 

Hartford, Apl. 17, 1873.  Ed. Graphic,—­Your note is received.  If the following two lines which I have cut from it are your natural handwriting, then I understand you to ask me “for a farewell letter in the name of the American people.”  Bless you, the joy of the American people is just a little premature; I haven’t gone yet.  And what is more, I am not going to stay, when I do go.

Yes, it is true.  I am only going to remain beyond the sea, six months, that is all.  I love stir and excitement; and so the moment the spring birds begin to sing, and the lagging weariness of summer to threaten, I grow restless, I get the fidgets; I want to pack off somewhere where there’s something going on.  But you know how that is—­you must have felt that way.  This very day I saw the signs in the air of the coming dullness, and I said to myself, “How glad I am that I have already chartered a steamship!” There was absolutely nothing in the morning papers.  You can see for yourself what the telegraphic headings were: 

     By telegraph

A Father Killed by His Son

A Bloody Fight in Kentucky

A Court House Fired, and
Negroes Therein Shot
while Escaping

A Louisiana Massacre

An Eight-year-old murderer
Two to Three Hundred Men Roasted Alive!

A Town in a State of General Riot

A Lively Skirmish in Indiana
(and thirty other similar headings.)