The town was all agog, and Hancock was easily Boston’s first citizen, but in his time of prosperity he did not forget his old friends.  He sent for them to come and make merry with him; and among the first in his good offices was John Adams, the rising young lawyer of Braintree.

John Adams had found clients scarce, and those he had, poor pay, but when he became the trusted legal adviser of John Hancock, things took a turn and prosperity came that way.  The wine and cards and dinners hadn’t much attraction for him, but still there were no conscientious scruples in the way.  He patted John Hancock on the back, assured him that he was the people, looked after his interests loyally, and extracted goodly fees for services performed.

At the home of Adams at Braintree, Hancock had met a quiet, taciturn individual by the name of Samuel Adams.  This man he had long known in a casual way, but had never been able really to make his acquaintance.  He was fifteen years older than Hancock, and by his quiet dignity and self-possession made quite an impression on the young man.

So, now that prosperity had smiled, Hancock invited him to his house, but the quiet man was an ascetic and neither played cards, drank wine nor danced, and so declined with thanks.

But not long after, he requested a small loan from the merchant-prince, and asked it as though it were his right, and so he got it.  His manner was in such opposition to the flatterers and those who crawled, and whined, and begged, that Hancock was pleased with the man.  Samuel Adams had declined Hancock’s social favors, and yet, in asking for a loan, showed his friendliness.

Samuel Adams was a politician, and had long taken an active part in the town meetings.  In fact, to get a measure through, it was well to have Samuel Adams at your side.  He was clear-headed, astute, and knew the human heart.  Yet he talked but little, and the convivial ways of the small politician were far from him; but in the fine art that can manage men and never let them know they are managed he was a past-master.  Tucked in his sleeve, no doubt, was a degree of pride in his power, but the stoic quality in his nature never allowed him to break into laughter when he considered how he led men by the nose.

In Boston and its vicinity, Samuel Adams was not highly regarded, and outside of Boston, at forty years of age, he was positively unknown.  The neighbors regarded him as a harmless fanatic, sane on most subjects, but possessed of a buzzing bee in his bonnet to the effect that the Colonies should be separated from their protector, England.  Samuel Adams neglected his business and kept up a fusillade of articles in the newspapers, on various political subjects, and men who do this are regarded everywhere as “queer.”  A professional newspaper-writer never takes his calling seriously—­it is business.  He writes to please his employer, or if he owns the paper himself, he still writes to please his employer, that is to say, the public.  Journalism, thy name is pander!