And yet, such is the fact!
After an exchange of letters and in response to his kind invitation, I called at his office, and as he grasped my hand I felt that I had found a friend—how great a friend I did not then know.
The first call was followed by many others, and I was always welcomed with the cordial greeting that is born of sincerity and sired by true friendship. He took a keen interest in my affairs, discussed with me my plans for again becoming a "moneymaker," and was ever ready to lend a helping hand to bridge over the hard spots that were more or less frequent.
Among other business prospects, there was held out to me the possibility of becoming manager of a branch office of a New York Stock Exchange firm in Washington, D. C. This position I lost in competition with a man who had already an established clientele. Then came an offer from another Washington concern, an opening in a congenial and remunerative business, that would give me only a small income to commence with, but which through a prospective early reorganization of the concern presented great possibilities. This I accepted.
As soon as it was decided we were to settle in Washington or its vicinity, came the longing for a country home, not only as a matter of choice, but the practical side appealed to us.
We believed we could make a farm certainly self-supporting and probably a paying proposition. Our amateur experience in earlier years had always been successful. We did not think there was much to be made in farming, as it is generally understood, but the farm would give us our living and certain specialties we thought could be relied on for profit. Hot-house cucumbers, cold frame violets, mushrooms, and last, but by no means least, the putting up "home-made," in glass of vegetables and fruits for sale to private buyers. In this department my wife is a master hand. In our prosperous days she always superintended such work in our home and always with unqualified success. No better market than Washington could be desired for such products and we longed for the opportunity to cater to it.
We talked it all over one evening and called it a fairy tale, it seemed so far beyond the bounds of our possibilities.
As a singular coincidence, there came to me the following day a catalogue of farms, published by a Washington real estate agent. Looking it over, I clipped from its columns the following:
334. $8000. 150 acres. "Chestnut Ridge." Elegant property delightfully located. Land of excellent quality, adapted to all agricultural purposes; 50 or more acres of valuable woodland, embracing every variety, suitable for timber ties and telegraph poles; many cool and pleasant groves; handsome 3-story mansion; library, parlor, dining-room, butler's room, pantry, kitchen, laundry, bath, 7 bed-rooms, attic and 1 cupola room; open fire-place; grate; latrobe; approach to mansion through driveway lined with evergreens, encircling beautiful lawn; water supply ample and pure; 2 springs, 2 wells and a constant running stream, with a tributary run, adding greatly to the possibilities of the place. A lake, 150x75 feet, furnishes pleasure in summer and sufficient ice in winter. Every kind and variety of fruit; small fruit and grapes in abundance. The outhouses embrace office, ice-house, gardener's house, stone dairy, barn with loft and wagon sheds, hay-barracks and extensive poultry-houses, systematically arranged for handling chickens and eggs. This choice property is only 14 miles from Baltimore, near the Washington Boulevard, and overlooks the surrounding country for miles; magnificent scenery and a healthy, lovely home worthy the attention of connoisseur.
"The very place we want," said my wife, and I agreed with her.