Eben Holden: A Tale of the North Country

  Chapter 42

  For every man he knew and loved Mr Greeley had a kindness that filledhim to the fingertips. When I returned he smote me on the breast--anunfailing mark of his favour--and doubled my salary.

  'If he ever smites you on the breast,' McClingan had once said to me,'turn the other side, for, man, your fortune is made.'

  And there was some truth in the warning.

  He was writing when I came in. A woman sat beside him talking. Animmense ham lay on the marble top of the steam radiator; a basket ofeggs sat on the floor near Mr Greeley's desk All sorts of merchandisewere sent to the Tribune those days, for notice, and sold at auction, tomembers of the staff, by Mr Dana.

  'Yes, yes, Madame, go on, I hear you,' said the great editor, as his penflew across the white page.

  She asked him then for a loan of money. He continued writing but,presently, his left hand dove into his trousers pocket coming up full ofbills.

  'Take what you want,' said he, holding it toward her, 'and please go forI am very busy.' Whereupon she helped herself liberally and went away.

  Seeing me, Mr Greeley came and shook my hand warmly and praised me fer agood soldier.

  'Going down town,' he said in a moment, drawing on his big whiteovercoat, 'walk along with me--won't you?

  We crossed the park, he leading me with long strides. As we walkedhe told how he had been suffering from brain fever. Passing St Paul'schurchyard he brushed the iron pickets with his hand as if to try thefeel of them. Many turned to stare at him curiously. He asked me, soon,if I would care to do a certain thing for the Tribune, stopping, to lookin at a shop window, as I answered him. I waited while he did his errandat a Broadway shop; then we came back to the office. The publisher wasin Mr Greeley's room.

  'Where's my ham, Dave?' said the editor as he looked at the slab ofmarble where the ham had lain.

  'Don't know for sure,' said the publisher, 'it's probably up at thehouse of the--editor by this time.

  'What did you go 'n give it to him for?' drawled Mr Greeley in a tone ofirreparable injury. 'I wanted that ham for myself.

  'I didn't give it to him,' said the publisher. 'He came and helpedhimself. Said he supposed it was sent in for notice.

  'The infernal thief!' Mr Greeley piped with a violent gesture. 'I'llswear! if I didn't keep my shirt buttoned tight they'd have that, too.

  The ham was a serious obstacle in the way of my business and it wentover until evening. But that and like incidents made me to know the manas I have never seen him pictured--a boy grown old and grey, pushing thepower of manhood with the ardours of youth.

  I resumed work on the Tribune that week. My first assignment was a massmeeting in a big temporary structure--then called a wigwam--over inBrooklyn. My political life began that day and all by an odd chance. Thewigwam was crowded to the doors. The audience bad been waiting half anhour for the speaker. The chairman had been doing his best to killtime but had run out of ammunition. He had sat down to wait, an awkwardsilence had begun. The crowd was stamping and whistling and clappingwith impatience. As I walked down the centre aisle, to the reporter'stable, they seemed to mistake me for the speaker. Instantly a greatuproar began. It grew louder every step I took. I began to wonder andthen to fear the truth. As I neared the stage the chairman came forwardbeckoning to me. I went to the flight of steps leading up to that higherlevel of distinguished citizens and halted, not knowing just what to do.He came and leaned over and whispered down at me. I remember he was redin the face and damp with perspiration.

  'What is your name?' he enquired.

  'Brower,' said I in a whisper.

  A look of relief came into his face and I am sure a look of anxiety cameinto mine. He had taken the centre of the stage before I could stop him.

  'Lathes and gentlemen,' said he, 'I am glad to inform you that GeneralBrower has at last arrived.

  I remembered then there was a General Brower in the army who was also apower in politics.

  In the storm of applause that followed this announcement, I beckoned himto the edge of the platform again. I was nearer a condition of mentalpanic than I have ever known since that day.

  'I am not General Brower,' I whispered.

  'What!' said he in amazement.

  'I am not General Brower,' I said.

  'Great heavens!' he whispered, covering his mouth with his band andlooking very thoughtful. 'You'll have to make a speech, anyway--there'sno escape.

  I could see no way out of it and, after a moment's hesitation, ascendedthe platform took off my overcoat and made a speech.

  Fortunately the issue was one with which I had been long familiar. Itold them how I had been trapped. The story put the audience in goodhumour and they helped me along with very generous applause. And sobegan my career in politics which has brought me more honour than Ideserved although I know it has not been wholly without value to mycountry. It enabled me to repay in part the kindness of my former chiefat a time when he was sadly in need of friends. I remember meeting himin Washington a day of that exciting campaign of '72. I was then inCongress.

  'I thank you for what you have done, Brower,' said he, 'but I tell youI am licked. I shall not carry a single state. I am going to beslaughtered.

  He had read his fate and better than he knew. In politics he was a greatprophet.