I took only the fifty dollars, and asked how he had prospered.
“Oh, I'm getting along,” said he. “I have a good law practice in New York and a house on Fifth Avenue. When you go to New York, if I'm there, please look me up.”
I left Bony, for the gentleman was climbing the steps and we had much to do.
It was the middle of February, 1868. McCarthy was on some of the most important committees, including Ways and Means and Railroads, and had got his head above the crowd. Suddenly he was called to New York by the Commodore.
“Come to my house at 5.30 to-morrow,” the telegram said.
McCarthy wanted me to go with him, and I went. On the way down he told me that any day he was likely to be served with papers in a suit by the talented young lady.
“So far they've done nothing but threaten,” said he. “It may be it's only a bluff—an effort to scare me. I wish they'd act if they're going to. Have you said anything to Sarah about this?”
“Not a word,” was my answer.
“Don't,” said the gentleman. “Above all, don't let her know that I love her. If she gets a suitable offer she ought to accept it.”
“I have reason to believe that she is fond of you.”