I wonder if you will remember me; my father was Dr. Britton, of
Marion, Ohio.
I have been away from Marion for about two years, and, up until last
November, have been working. But it was work which promised no future.
Through the kindness of one of my father’s Kenyon classmates, Mr.
Grover Carter, of this city, I have been enabled to take up a
secretarial course, which course I shall finish in less than three
weeks.
I have been reading of the imperative demand for stenographers and
typists throughout the country, and the apparent scarcity, and it has
occurred to me that you are in a position to help me along this line
if there is an opening.
My experience is limited; I have done some work for Mr. Carter this
winter; I have also been doing publicity work in the afternoons
while going to school; the latter has been in connection with Madame
Paderewski’s Polish Refugee work. Now that I am about to look for an
all-day position I do so want to get into something which will afford
me prospects of advancement.
Any suggestions or help you might give me would be greatly
appreciated, I assure you, and it would please me so to hear from you.
Sincerely,
NAN BRITTON
[Illustration: The author, when she wrote the letter on Page 25]
Three days later, toward evening, when I came home from school, I spied
a large envelope on the hall table. It was addressed to me in a man’s
handwriting and bore the United States Senate return. I tore it open.
At first my eyes swept the pages unseeingly, noting only the signature,
“W. G. Harding.”
Mrs. Carter was in the living-room on that floor and I joined her
there. She was an extremely conventional woman and I knew she would not
understand or sympathize if I were to confess my intense admiration for
a married man. So, with a supreme effort at nonchalance, I told her
that I had some days before written to Senator Harding inquiring about
a position, and that this was his reply. With forced calm I read aloud
to her his letter to me.
The opening sentence was an assurance that he did indeed remember
me. He added, “... you may be sure of that, and I remember you most
agreeably, too.” Compared with the warmth of these first sentences the
following cordially expressed desire to be of assistance in furthering
my ambition to become a secretary held only secondary interest for me.
He said frankly that if he had a position open in his own office he
would “gladly tender it to me.” The next best thing he said, would
be to help me to a government position provided I were secretarially
equipped for it. To this end he inquired specifically what I had been
trained to do. He suggested that I accompany my next letter with a
note of recommendation, parenthetically emphasizing that this note was
not for his own satisfaction but for that of the department chief.
After this was in his hands he would “go personally to the war or navy
department and urge my appointment.” He thought that “the fact that my
esteemed father had belonged to the party now in power” would help.
He mentioned the maximum departmental salary of $100 per month, but
warned me that I would probably have to be satisfied with an initial
salary of $60. Such positions as were available might last only during
the period of the war, he said, and added, “which we all hope will not
be long--however, it may be very long.”
The latter paragraphs thrilled me. He wrote that there was “every
probability” of his being in New York the following week! If he could
reach me by phone or “becomingly look me up,” he would do so, and “take
pleasure in doing it.”
The whole tone of the letter was one of utmost cordiality. I could
scarcely refrain from uttering exclamations of delight. I took my
things and went upstairs to my room where I could reread the letter
alone.
My bedroom on the third floor of the Carter home was a joy to me. The
house itself stood almost in the shadow of Queensboro Bridge, which
spans the North River at 59th Street. My windows faced the southeast
and afforded a gorgeous view of the river. On a clear evening the
lights of the Williamsburg, Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges looked like
arches of stars hung low and twinkling against the sky.
Outside my windows trees were freshly green. Sparrows perched there and
chirped joyously. For weeks children had been playing out-of-doors,
mingling their cries with a hundred other street noises. And, from the
background of these sounds, arose momently the varied shrilling of the
river-boat whistles....
It all fascinated me. It was so different from any atmosphere I had
ever known. At first these very things had made me homesick, but I
was growing now to love New York! I liked to watch the barges glide
smoothly and with scarce perceptible progress up or down the river....
I could even see from my bed in the morning the sparkling water surface
dancing in the sun!...
Now I closed my door and seated myself on the sill of an open
window.... All I had dared to hope for from Mr. Harding was a possible
letter of introduction from him to someone, either in Washington or New
York, to whom I might apply direct for a position.... But he himself
seemed genuinely interested in helping me!... And was coming over to
New York, and would see me!... Warren Gamaliel Harding!
As the evening deepened, and even as I crept in between cool white
sheets that night, the impression grew upon me that under the cordial
phraseology of his letter there was more than the mere desire to be of
assistance to me. It was almost a sweet ingratiation.... “You see I do
remember you ...” was his concluding sentence....
Well indeed had I perceived this hidden warmth! When, upon his visit,
I quoted to him those lines which had moved me to feel an underlying
sweetness beyond the evident friendliness, he smiled and nodded and
confessed to an overwhelming desire to _see_ me after these years. _To
see me_, he said, had been the sole motive for his trip to New York at
that particular time!
And so an inexpressible happiness reigned in my heart, even though
my impressions had not yet been grounded in fact by his assurances.
Therefore I did not allow secret delight to vent itself in written
words, but on May 11th wrote the following formal letter: