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.