'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.
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