As I left the White House, I met Owen Lovejoy who greeted me cordially and asked, “How long are you going to stay here?”
“Until I get what I came after,” I replied.
“That’s right, that’s right; go on, I believe in the final perseverance of the saints.”
I have never forgotten these words, perhaps it is because they were the last I ever heard him utter.
I returned in the morning, full of hope, thinking of the pleasant face I had left the evening before, but no smile greeted me. The President was evidently annoyed by something, and waited for me to speak, which I did not do. I afterward learned his annoyance was caused by a woman pleading for the life of a son who was sentenced to be shot for desertion under very aggravating circumstances.
After a moment he said, “Well,” with a peculiar contortion of face I never saw in anybody else.
I replied, “Well,” and he looked at me a little astonished, I fancied, and said, “Have you nothing to say?”
“Nothing, Mr. President, until I hear your decision. You bade me come this morning; have you decided?”
“No, but I believe this idea of northern hospitals is a great humbug, and I am tired of hearing about it.” He spoke impatiently.
I replied, “I regret to add a feather’s weight to your already overwhelming care and responsibility. I would rather have stayed at home.”