“Mrs. Talmage, ma’am, there is a crazy man in that room on the top floor,” she cried.  She had not seen nor heard the Doctor, and did not know that that room was his study.  On these weekend days we always drove after dark.  An open carriage was at the door by 8 o’clock, and no matter what the weather might be we had our drive.  In the dead of winter, wrapped in furs and rugs, we have driven in an open carriage just as if it were summer.  Usually we went up on Capitol Hill because the Doctor was fond of the view from that height.

My share in the Doctor’s labours were those of a watchful companion, who appreciated his genius, but could give it no greater light than sympathy and admiration.  Occasionally he would ask me to select the hymns for the services, and this I did as well as I could.  Sunday was the great day of the week to me.  It has never been the same since the Doctor died.  Our friendships were always mutual, and we shared them with equal pleasure.  The Doctor’s friendship with President McKinley was an intimate mutual association that ended only with the great national disaster of the President’s assassination.  Very often, we walked over in the morning to the White House to call on the President for an informal chat.  A little school friend, who was visiting my daughter that winter, told my husband how anxious she was to see a President.

“Come on with me, I will show you a real President,” said Dr. Talmage one morning, and over we went to the White House.  While we were talking with the President, Mrs. McKinley came in from a drive and sent word that she wished to see us.

“I want to show you the President’s library and bedroom,” she said, “that you may see how a President lives.”  Then she took us upstairs and showed us their home.

While we did not keep open house, there was always someone dropping in to take dinner or supper informally, and I was somewhat surprised when Dr. Talmage told me one day that he thought we ought to give some sort of entertainment in return for our social obligations.  It was not quite like him to remember or think of such things.  On January 23, 1899, we gave an evening reception, to which over 300 people came.  It was the first social affair of consequence the Doctor had ever given in his house in Washington.

My husband’s memory for names was so uncertain that when he introduced me to people he tactfully mumbled.  On this occasion Senator Gorman very kindly stood near me to identify the people for me.  I remember a very dapper, very little man in evening clothes, who was passed on to me by the Doctor, with the usual unintelligible introduction, and I had just begun to make myself agreeable when, pointing to a medal on his coat, the little man said: 

“I am the only woman in the United States who has been honoured with one of these medals.”

I was very much mystified and looked up helplessly at Senator Gorman, who relieved me at once by saying, “Mrs. Talmage, this is the celebrated Dr. Mary Walker, of whom you have heard so often.”