HIS VOLUNTEER GERMAN FRIEND.
News of this honor reached Mr. Johnson while fishing, and his first impulse was to decline to run. But further thought led to a change of decision. Having decided, he acted. From that time until the election, he delivered a succession of public speeches, and the man who had distrusted his ability to address an audience suddenly found that he was an orator.
At every one of his tent meetings was to be seen a stout old German, who always occupied a front seat, and who evidently felt a proprietary interest in the speaker, which he manifested by liberal and loud interjections of “Bully Boy!” On one occasion, after a meeting, the German happened to be sitting next to Miss Johnson in the trolley car on the return trip. “Do you see that stout man down there?” he said; addressing her; “well, that’s my friend, Tom Johnson. He’s a great man; I know him well. And that lady next to him, that’s his wife.”
“Indeed,” replied Miss Johnson, “and I happen to be his daughter.”
The old German was not one whit abashed. Springing to his feet, he held out his hand. “And I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Johnson!” he cried, at the top of his voice; “I’m delighted to meet any one belonging to Tom Johnson. Bully boy!”
Like his German admirer, the people stood by Mr. Johnson, and he was elected a member of the Fifty-second and Fifty-third Congresses, in which he distinguished himself by his frank criticism of the administration.
HIS FIRST SPEECH IN CONGRESS.
Mrs. Johnson’s account of her husband’s first speech in Congress is as dramatic and vivid as Baudet’s description of the trial in the “Nabob.” Like the Nabob’s mother, she was in attendance unknown to the principal actor; but, in her case, this was due to intention, not accident.
“I was alone in the stall of the gallery,” she said, “save for one other woman, who was there evidently merely from curiosity. I was choking, trembling from excitement. There was a great, inarticulate noise in the chamber, the banging of desk-lids, the calling of members to pages, the murmur of voices in conversation. Groups were scattered about the room; members were reading; no one was paying the slightest attention to the proceedings. Then Mr. Johnson arose, and I felt my heart stand still. Surely they would stop the noise, if only from common courtesy. But there was not an instant’s cessation in the hubbub; everything continued exactly as before. He began to speak, but I could hardly catch the sound of his voice. I leaned forward and gripped the rail; the confusion would distract him; he would break down. Oh, how I hated those men who had no consideration for anyone but themselves. I felt the eyes of the other woman on me, sympathetically, pitying. Suddenly, someone cried ‘S-sh!’ and there was an instant’s cessation in the noise. But only for an instant. I was bending forward over the rail, my eyes fixed on the speaker, hoping, praying for his success. Suddenly, W. C. Breckenridge, who was sitting directly in front of him, lifted his eyes and caught sight of me, and started to rise to come up into the gallery. I raised my hand and motioned him back, for I feared Mr. Johnson might look up and see me. Mr. Breckenridge sank back in his seat again, and I breathed a sigh of relief.”