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.
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