mpromptu pleading.
The weary committee, which had been tortured all day with dull,
statistical arguments made by the mechanical device fiends, and
dreary platitudes unloaded by men whose chief ambition was to shine as
copyright champions, suddenly realized that they were being rewarded
for the long waiting. They began to brighten and freshen, and uplift and
smile, like flowers that have been wilted by a drought when comes the
refreshing shower that means renewed life and vigor. Every listener was
as if standing on tiptoe. When the last sentence was spoken the applause
came like an explosion.--[Howells in his book My Mark Twain speaks of
Clemens's white clothing as "an inspiration which few men would have had
the courage to act upon." He adds: "The first time I saw him wear it was
at the authors' hearing before the Congressional Committee on Copyright
in Washington. Nothing could have been more dramatic than the gesture
with which he flung off his long, loose overcoat and stood forth
in white from his feet to the crown of his silvery head. It was a
magnificent coup, and he dearly loved a coup; but the magnificent speech
which he made, tearing to shreds the venerable farrago of nonsense
about nonproperty in ideas which had formed the basis of all copyright
legislation, made you forget even his spectacularity."]

There came a universal rush of men and women to get near enough for a
word and to shake his hand. But he was anxious to get away. We drove
to the Willard and talked and smoked, and got ready for dinner. He was
elated, and said the occasion required full-dress. We started down at
last, fronted and frocked like penguins.

I did not realize then the fullness of his love for theatrical effect.
I supposed he would want to go down with as little ostentation as
possible, so took him by the elevator which enters the dining-room
without passing through the long corridor known as "Peacock Alley,"
because of its being a favorite place for handsomely dressed
fashionables of the national capital. When we reached the entrance of
the dining-room he said:

"Isn't there another entrance to this place?"

I said there was, but that it was very conspicuous. We should have to go
down the long corridor.

"Oh, well," he said, "I don't mind that. Let's go back and try it over."

So we went back up the elevator, walked to the other end of the hotel,
and came down to the F Street entrance. There is a fine, stately flight
of steps--a