and he and
Twichell would go on excursions, sometimes as far as Wethersfield or to
the tower. It was a pleasant change, at least it was an interesting one;
but bicycling on the high wheel was never a popular diversion with Mark
Twain, and his enthusiasm in the sport had died before the "safety" came
along.

He had his machine sent out to Elmira, but there were too many hills in
Chemung County, and after one brief excursion he came in, limping and
pushing his wheel, and did not try it again.

To return to Cable. When the 1st of April (1884) approached he concluded
it would be a good time to pay off his debt of gratitude for his
recent entertainment in the Clemens's home. He went to work at it
systematically. He had a "private and confidential" circular letter
printed, and he mailed it to one hundred and fifty of Mark Twain's
literary friends in Boston, Hartford, Springfield, New York, Brooklyn,
Washington, and elsewhere, suggesting that they write to him, so that
their letters would reach him simultaneously April 1st, asking for his
autograph. No stamps or cards were to be inclosed for reply, and it was
requested that "no stranger to Mr. Clemens and no minor" should take
part. Mrs. Clemens was let into the secret, so that she would see to
it that her husband did not reject his mail or commit it to the flames
unopened.

It would seem that every one receiving the invitation must have
responded to it, for on the morning of April 1st a stupefying mass of
letters was unloaded on Mark Twain's table. He did not know what to make
of it, and Mrs. Clemens stood off to watch the results. The first one
he opened was from Dean Sage, a friend whom he valued highly. Sage wrote
from Brooklyn:

DEAR CLEMENS,--I have recently been asked by a young lady who
unfortunately has a mania for autograph-collecting, but otherwise is
a charming character, and comely enough to suit your fastidious
taste, to secure for her the sign manual of the few distinguished
persons fortunate enough to have my acquaintance. In enumerating
them to her, after mentioning the names of Geo. Shepard Page, Joe
Michell, Capt. Isaiah Ryndus, Mr. Willard, Dan Mace, and J. L.
Sullivan, I came to yours. "Oh!" said she, "I have read all his
works--Little Breeches, The Heathen Chinee, and the rest--and think
them delightful. Do oblige me by asking him for his autograph,
preceded by any little sentiment that may occur to him, pr