Chapter 35 - Page 2

in mind o'you.'

I went away sore in the morning, but with no drooping spirit. In the
middle of the afternoon I straightened up a moment to ease my
back and look about me.

There at the edge of the gang stood the great Horace Greeley and
Waxy McClingan. The latter beckoned me as he caught my eye.
I went aside to greet them. Mr Greeley gave me his hand.

'Do you mean to tell me that you'd rather work than beg or
borrow?' said he.

'That's about it,' I answered.

'And ain't ashamed of it?

'Ashamed! Why?' said I, not quite sure of his meaning. It had never
occurred to me that one had any cause to be ashamed of working.

He turned to McClingan and laughed.

'I guess you'll do for the Tribune,' he said. 'Come and see me at
twelve tomorrow.

And then they went away.

If I had been a knight of the garter I could not have been treated
with more distinguished courtesy by those hard-handed men the
rest of the day. I bade them goodbye at night and got my order for
four dollars. One Pat Devlin, a great-hearted Irishman, who had
shared my confidence and some of my doughnuts on the curb at
luncheon time, I remember best of all.

'Ye'll niver fergit the toime we wurruked together under Boss
McCormick,' said he.

And to this day, whenever I meet the good man, now bent and
grey, he says always, 'Good-day if ye, Mr Brower. D'ye mind the
toime we pounded the rock under Boss McCormick?

Mr Greeley gave me a place at once on the local staff and invited
me to dine with him at his home that evening. Meanwhile he sent
me to the headquarters of the Republican Central Campaign
Committee, on Broadway, opposite the New York Hotel. Lincoln
had been nominated in May, and the great political fight of 1860
was shaking the city with its thunders.

I turned in my copy at the city desk in good season, and, although
the great editor had not yet left his room, I took a car at once to
keep my appointment. A servant showed me to a seat in the big
back parlour of Mr Greeley's home, where I spent a lonely hour
before I heard his heavy footsteps in the hail. He immediately
rushed upstairs, two steps at a time, and, in a moment, I heard his
high voice greeting the babies. He came down shortly with one of
them clinging to his hand.

'Thunder!' said he, 'I had forgotten all about you. Let's go right
in to dinner.

He sat at the head of the table and I next to him. I remember how,
wearied by the day's burden, he sat, lounging heavily, in careless
attitudes. He stirred his dinner into a hash of eggs, potatoes, squash
and parsnips, and ate it leisurely with a spoon, his head braced
often with his left forearm, its elbow resting on the table. It