The Fifth Avenue Hotel, in those days the stopping-place of the majority of the famous men and women visiting New York, represented to the young boy who came to see these celebrities the very pinnacle of opulence.  Often while waiting to be received by some dignitary, he wondered how one could acquire enough means to live at a place of such luxury.  The main dining-room, to the boy’s mind, was an object of special interest.  He would purposely sneak up-stairs and sit on one of the soft sofas in the foyer simply to see the well-dressed diners go in and come out.  Edward would speculate on whether the time would ever come when he could dine in that wonderful room just once!

One evening he called, after the close of business, upon General and Mrs. Grant, whom he had met before, and who had expressed a desire to see his collection.  It can readily be imagined what a red-letter day it made in the boy’s life to have General Grant say:  “It might be better for us all to go down to dinner first and see the collection afterward.”  Edward had purposely killed time between five and seven o’clock, thinking that the general’s dinner-hour, like his own, was at six.  He had allowed an hour for the general to eat his dinner, only to find that he was still to begin it.  The boy could hardly believe his ears, and unable to find his voice, he failed to apologize for his modest suit or his general after-business appearance.

As in a dream he went down in the elevator with his host and hostess, and when the party of three faced toward the dining-room entrance, so familiar to the boy, he felt as if his legs must give way under him.  There have since been other red-letter days in Edward Bok’s life, but the moment that still stands out pre-eminent is that when two colored head waiters at the dining-room entrance, whom he had so often watched, bowed low and escorted the party to their table.  At last he was in that sumptuous dining-hall.  The entire room took on the picture of one great eye, and that eye centred on the party of three—­as, in fact, it naturally would.  But Edward felt that the eye was on him, wondering why he should be there.

What he ate and what he said he does not recall.  General Grant, not a voluble talker himself, gently drew the boy out, and Mrs. Grant seconded him, until toward the close of the dinner he heard himself talking.  He remembers that he heard his voice, but what that voice said is all dim to him.  One act stamped itself on his mind.  The dinner ended with a wonderful dish of nuts and raisins, and just before the party rose from the table Mrs. Grant asked the waiter to bring her a paper bag.  Into this she emptied the entire dish, and at the close of the evening she gave it to Edward “to eat on the way home.”  It was a wonderful evening, afterward up-stairs, General Grant smoking the inevitable cigar, and telling stories as he read the letters of different celebrities.  Over those of Confederate generals he grew reminiscent; and when he came to a letter from General Sherman, Edward remembers that he chuckled audibly, reread it, and then turning to Mrs. Grant, said: