Miss Langdon, on her part, was at first rather dazed by the strange, brilliant, handsome man, so unlike anything she had known before.  When he had gone, she had the feeling that something like a great meteor had crossed her sky.  To her brother, who was eager for her good opinion of his celebrity, she admitted her admiration, if not her entire approval.  Her father had no doubts.  With a keen sense of humor and a deep knowledge of men, Jervis Langdon was from that first evening the devoted champion of Mark Twain.  Clemens saw Miss Langdon again during the holidays, and by the week’s end he had planned to visit Elmira—­soon.  But fate managed differently.  He was not to see Elmira for the better part of a year.

He returned to his work in Washington—­the preparation of the book and his newspaper correspondence.  It was in connection with the latter that he first met General Grant, then not yet President.  The incident, characteristic of both men, is worth remembering.  Mark Twain had called by permission, elated with the prospect of an interview.  But when he looked into the square, smileless face of the soldier he found himself, for the first time in his life, without anything particular to say.  Grant nodded slightly and waited.  His caller wished something would happen.  It did.  His inspiration returned.

“General,” he said, “I seem to be slightly embarrassed.  Are you?”

Grant’s severity broke up in laughter.  There were no further difficulties.

Work on the book did not go so well.  There were many distractions in Washington, and Clemens did not like the climate there.  Then he found the “Alta” had copyrighted his letters and were reluctant to allow him to use them.  He decided to sail at once for San Francisco.  If he could arrange the “Alta” matter, he would finish his work there.  He did, in fact, carry out this plan, and all difficulties vanished on his arrival.  His old friend Colonel McComb obtained for him free use of the “Alta” letters.  The way was now clear for his book.  His immediate need of funds, however, induced him to lecture.  In May he wrote Bliss: 

   “I lectured here on the trip (the Quaker City excursion) the other
   night; $1,600 in gold in the house; every seat taken and paid for
   before night.”

He settled down to work now with his usual energy, editing and rewriting, and in two months had the big manuscript ready for delivery.

Mark Twain’s friends urged him to delay his return to “the States” long enough to make a lecture tour through California and Nevada.  He must give his new lecture, they told him, to his old friends.  He agreed, and was received at Virginia City, Carson, and elsewhere like a returning conqueror.  He lectured again in San Francisco just before sailing.

The announcement of his lecture was highly original.  It was a hand-bill supposed to have been issued by the foremost citizens of San Francisco, a mock protest against his lecture, urging him to return to New York without inflicting himself on them again.  On the same bill was printed his reply.  In it he said: