We were paving Park Place and we had to break stone and lay them and shovel dirt and dig with a pick and crowbar.

My face and neck were burned crimson when we quit work at five, and I went home with a feeling of having been run over by the cars.  I had a strong sense of soul and body, the latter dominated by a mighty appetite.  McClingan viewed me at first with suspicion in which there was a faint flavour of envy.  He invited me at once to his room, and was amazed at seeing it was no lark.  I told him frankly what I was doing and why and where.

‘I would not mind the loaning of a few dollars,’ he said, ’as a matter o’ personal obligement I would be most happy to do it — most happy, Brower, indeed I would.’

I thanked him cordially, but declined the favour, for at home they had always taught me the danger of borrowing, and I was bound to have it out with ill luck on my own resources.

‘Greeley is back,’ said he, ’and I shall see him tomorrow.  I will put him 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.