"Just like you—cowhide and all—the son of a small freeholder in Kinderhook on the Hudson," he went on. "But he was well fed in brain and body and kept his heart clean. So, of course, he grew and is still growing. That's a curious thing about men and women, Bart. If they are in good ground and properly cared for they never stop growing-never!—and that's a pretty full word—isn't it?"
I felt its fulness, but the Senator had a way of stopping just this side of the grave in all his talks with me, and so there was no sign of preaching in any of it.
"As time goes on you'll meet a good many great men, I presume," he continued. "They're all just human beings like you and me. Most of them enjoy beefsteak, and apple pie and good boys."
We had come in sight of the house. I lagged behind a little when I saw the great man sitting on the small piazza with Mrs. Wright. I shall never forget the grand clothes he wore—black, saving the gray waistcoat, with shiny, brass buttons—especially the great, white standing collar and cravat. I see vividly, too, as I write, the full figure, the ruddy, kindly face, the large nose, the gray eyes, the thick halo of silvered hair extending from his collar to the bald top of his head. He rose and said in a deep voice:
"He sows ill luck who hinders the reaper."
Mr. Wright hung his sickle on a small tree in the dooryard and answered.
"The plowman has overtaken the reaper, Mr. President. I bid you welcome to my humble home."
"It is a pleasure to be here and a regret to call you back to Washington," said the President as they shook hands.
"I suppose that means an extra session," the Senator answered.
"First let me reassure you. I shall get away as soon as possible, for I know that a President is a heavy burden for one to have on his hands."