There was the fountain of all
that wisdom which had been read aloud and heard with reverence
in our household since a time I could but dimly remember. There
sat the prophet who had given us so much - his genial views of life
and government, his hopes, his fears, his mighty wrath at the
prospering of cruelty and injustice.
'I would like to see Mr Horace Greeley,' I said, rather timidly, at
the counter.
'Walk right up those stairs and turn to the left,' said a clerk, as he
opened a gate for me.
Ascending, I met a big man coming down, hurriedly, and with
heavy steps. We stood dodging each other a moment with that
unfortunate co-ordination of purpose men sometimes encounter
when passing each other. Suddenly the big man stopped in the
middle of the stairway and held both of his hands above his head.
'In God's name! young man,' said he, 'take your choice.'
He spoke in a high, squeaky voice that cut me with the sharpness
of its irritation. I went on past him and entered an open door near
the top of the stairway.
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