When Mr. Harding told me about coming over with Mr. Hughes I could see
how it had meant a very great deal to him to make the nominating speech
in behalf of Charles Evans Hughes for President in 1916. And to me that
night he spoke his very cordial admiration for Mr. Hughes. He said that
in his opinion Mr. Hughes would have made an excellent President.
I told Tim Slade how I had met Mr. Hughes one day on the street in New
York and had taken the liberty of going up and speaking to him, saying
I had no claim upon him except that I hailed from Marion, Ohio, and had
been an admirer of President Harding all my life. And at that time it
occurred to me that the steady eyes that smiled at me in appreciation
and greeting might some day take on the lights of understanding
sympathy if I made up my mind to approach him with my problem.
However, it was many months before I thought of Mr. Hughes again in
this connection, and, other sources of help having failed me, I went
to the office of the former Secretary of State, at 100 Broadway, and
presented to his secretary one of Mr. Harding’s letters to me, as a
sort of introduction to her employer. The secretary read the letter,
but said I would have to tell her the nature of my call upon Mr. Hughes
or she could not arrange an interview for me. To this I replied that it
was a matter so personal that I could not divulge its character to her,
but I assured her that I would not detain Mr. Hughes a second longer
than the time needed to state the purpose of my errand. She remained
adamant, and I came away without having seen Mr. Hughes.
When I made mention of Mr. Hughes to Tim Slade and repeated the above
incident to him, saying I was sure Mr. Hughes had been very fond of Mr.
Harding, Tim smiled broadly, and I felt I had again made a political
_faux pas_.
I disclaimed wanting anybody to do anything for Elizabeth Ann unless
they were so prompted by their love for her father. Tim declared that
in that case he was afraid, after all, that he could make little
progress. Though I appreciated Tim’s efforts in my behalf, I knew so
little about what he was doing that I felt incapable of advising him
what _not_ to do, and, anyway, I had my hands full in trying to bring
the Hardings to a realization of their obligation. In this connection I
very often said to Tim, “Tim, would you be willing to go with me to the
Votaws, or meet with us here in New York for a conference?” He assured
me he would be more than glad to tell them the things he knew which
pointed irrefutably to the truth some of the Hardings did not care to
believe.
_156_
I wrote to Miss Harding on March 14th, 1926, apprising her of my
resignation from The Town Hall Club, as assistant to the Executive
Secretary, and my contemplated association elsewhere. I told her I
planned to have from March 23rd until April 1st free, leaving the Club
for good the day following the March 23rd Club Dinner, which I had been
asked to supervise from the office end. I further expressed the hope
that she and Mrs. Votaw could come on to New York, so that I would be
spared the physical strain of a trip to Washington.
On the 20th of March I received from Tim Slade a note, sent special
delivery to the Club. I had written him again, asking him for help, and
in this instance, he answered my appeal. The note was dated March 19,
1926, and simply stated that he was enclosing his check for $100, which
he hoped would help me at that time, and that I should always let him
know when he could help me. Tim’s note was signed, “Sincerely, Tim.”
There was no salutation, though Tim called me “Nan,” having fallen into
that form of addressing me during our interviews at the Waldorf. He was
a great deal my senior, but somehow so boyish that it came easy to call
him “Tim,” as Mr. Harding had always done.
I answered Tim’s note under date of March 20th, saying I was sure I
would be able to pay the money back soon, and that I had not heard from
Daisy Harding in Florida as yet about our meeting, but would advise
him when I did. He had told me he would endeavor to join Miss Harding,
Mrs. Votaw and me in New York if they came there.
Soon thereafter I had a note from Miss Harding, dated March 20th, in
which she said that she and her husband were going home to Marion the
first of the week. Then, she wrote, in three or four days “brother and
I will come East.”
This was the first intimation from Miss Harding that her brother, Dr.
George Tryon Harding III, was to sit in at the interview we were to
have, and I rejoiced to think that he was coming. He was a man, his
brother Warren’s only brother, and would take a man’s view of this
situation. I acknowledged the receipt of this note from Miss Harding
under date of March 24th, and shall quote my letter almost in full:
“Your letter came this morning. As I understand it, you and your
brother, Dr. Harding, are coming East the last of this month or the
first of April and will no doubt pick up Mrs. Votaw in Washington
enroute. I shall await your wire, however, for I am not absolutely
sure I understand your letter correctly.
I am leaving the Club (officially) today, although I shall be coming
in every so often for the next week. I expect to take up my other work
the 1st of April....
I have on my desk this morning the final annulment papers, which gives
me the right and the extreme pleasure of signing myself,
Affectionately yours,
NAN BRITTON”
Then I wrote Tim Slade, giving him the outline of Miss Harding’s letter
and asking him to try to be on hand when they were here. It made me
feel better to know that I was to have the opportunity to talk to the
brother and sisters of Elizabeth Ann’s father face to face, and to
answer any questions they might put to me without the ambiguity that
the written word sometimes imposes.
But my sweetheart’s family must have consulted by letter and changed
their minds entirely, for under date of March 25th I received from
Marion, Ohio, a letter from Daisy Harding. She wrote that she and her
brother thought it would be better for me to come on to Marion to the
Lewis home (Daisy Harding’s). “... If you can convince him it will not
be necessary to call in the others ... if you have legal papers showing
the transaction between yourself and the Willitses, I would bring them
along ...” Miss Harding wrote. She suggested that perhaps it would be
wiser if I did not plan to see any of my Marion friends while there,
but left that for decision when I should reach her home. “I’m enclosing
a money order for your transportation here. I can give you more later
for your return fare....” This letter, also, was signed “Lovingly,”
and there was a postscript which said she thought it best for me to
be there by Monday or Tuesday morning. However, I did not receive the
letter until Monday noon.
This letter struck me as curiously strange in content, and I thought it
over as carefully as I could while making whirlwind preparations for
leaving that night. I determined, without giving _that_ determination
much thought, that I would have to see Tim Slade and get his advice
before going on to Marion. And possibly I might be able to persuade him
to accompany me, though I disliked to ask him to go to that expense. I
promised my precious daughter I would return in plenty of time to hail
the rabbit in his jumps at Easter, and left that night for Washington,
arriving the following morning.
_157_
I telephoned Tim Slade from the New Willard, and met him there an hour
or so later. It was a glorious morning and we took a walk around the
lower end of the White House grounds. It did not occur to me that the
great house beyond the trees was occupied. To me it would always be
deserted--because the big, genial, great-hearted man who used to live
there had gone away....
Tim talked to me about my trip to Marion, and when we returned
to the Willard and were seated on a couch in one of the emptier
drawing-rooms, we discussed definitely the amount of money which I
ought to stipulate as just, in my estimation, for Elizabeth Ann. I told
him I wanted only what was fair and within reason and thought that
$50,000 as a trust fund for Mr. Harding’s daughter would be equitable.
This seemed to me entirely fair in view of the fact that Mr. Harding’s
estate had been variously reported at from $400,000 to $800,000. In
addition to that amount of $50,000, Tim encouraged me to request a
minimum of $2,500 for myself, to pay my debts and to leave me a small
balance with which to get started in a permanent regime.
Tim reminded me that I could say to Dr. George Tryon Harding that
there was a man in Washington who thought enough of Mr. Harding to
volunteer to interest four or five other men, each to contribute toward
a fund for Elizabeth Ann if the Hardings themselves did not meet their
just obligations toward her. I thought this suggestion confirmed in a
degree a certain nervous apprehension I had experienced which had led
me to anticipate possible unfriendly treatment from the Hardings. I
inquired of Tim whether he thought Dr. Harding and his sister would be
kind to me, as the latter _had_ been up to this time. He answered with
characteristic drollery, “Say, they’ll just _love_ you!” Then he added
more seriously, “Why, they are _afraid_ of you! You just stand up for
your rights!”
Just then George Christian passed through the alley of the Willard
with another gentleman. They were busily engaged in conversation and
did not see us. “There goes poor old George!” exclaimed Tim, nodding
in his direction. This brought us to the discussion of Mr. Christian,
Mr. Daugherty, and others, and around to Mr. Brush. Tim said he had no
satisfaction from “Brush” or anybody else, but he had sent Brush word
that he wanted to see him the very next time he came to Washington. And
Tim’s tone indicated that Mr. Brush would come a-trotting when that
word reached him.
“Tim,” I said suddenly, as we sat there reminiscing about Mr. Harding
and bygone days and about my marriage-of-convenience to Captain
Neilsen, “do you think if this were known publicly I’d stand any
chance of ever getting married again if I cared to do so for the baby’s
sake?” Tim made a grimace intended to portray amused amazement at such
expectation on my part. “Well,” he answered comically, “some moving
picture man might have you!”
Tim offered to have a check cashed for me in the New Willard for $15,
because I had found that I had less when I reached Washington than I
might need before I reached Marion. He said he would have to have his
own check cashed, because they might not like to accept a stranger’s,
and he took my check to deposit in his bank. Then Tim bade me goodbye
and I went to meet a friend, with whom I spent the remainder of my time
until my train left.
_158_
I reached Marion, Ohio, my home town, about eleven o’clock the
following morning, and went immediately to the Lewis home on Vernon
Heights Boulevard. Daisy Harding (Mrs. Ralph Lewis) was alone in the
house when I arrived and she was surprised to see me come in at that
hour, having expected me earlier in the morning. I explained that I had
come by way of Washington, and she did not ask me why. She said her
brother intended to motor up from Columbus that afternoon to see me.
It was like a raw March day, although it was actually the first day
of April, and I observed that Dr. Harding would have quite a drive,
for Columbus was forty-five miles away. I was exceedingly tired and
lay down upon the couch in the living-room, the selfsame couch where I
had sat and revealed to Miss Harding my story nearly one year before.
Miss Harding left me to prepare luncheon, saying her maid had proven
unsatisfactory and she had therefore dismissed her and was doing her
own housework.
It was very quiet there in the living-room, and the peaceful atmosphere
and Daisy Harding’s loving welcome to me made it seem highly unlikely
that the interview could be other than friendly. Mr. Harding’s
picture, the one with Laddie Boy, stood in the same spot on the table
behind the couch where I lay ... all was restful with my sweetheart ...
no more worries ... harmony....
My mental relaxation continued as I chatted with Miss Harding during
luncheon, and after luncheon we did the dishes together. Dr. George
Tryon Harding III arrived by motor in a blizzard. Miss Harding and I
were in her own sitting-room upstairs, and she went down to open the
door for her brother. We were to have our interview there in Miss
Harding’s room, and so I remained on the _chaise longue_ where I had
been resting.
“Now, remember, Nan, brother ‘Deac’ intends to grill you unmercifully.
Don’t get angry. Just try to remain calm,” cautioned Miss Harding
before going downstairs to greet her brother. She brought him upstairs
immediately. Dr. Harding shook hands with me in a business-like manner
and with scarcely a smile, and Miss Harding went out of the room.
Evidently her brother had decided that she might betray her sympathy,
and it had been thought better for him to see me alone. But that did
not matter to me, for my story was the same, no matter to whom it was
repeated, and I can repeat it indefinitely without change.
I opened the conversation. “Well, Dr. Harding,” I remarked pleasantly,
as he sat down upon the edge of Miss Harding’s rocker, “I suppose this
story is a strange one to you.” He replied very briefly that it was a
story he felt obliged to investigate carefully, inasmuch as his brother
was not here to stand up for himself. I agreed that that was right and
proper.
“Now, where did the first intimacy which you allege take place?”
inquired Dr. Harding, looking up from the little notebook which was
poised upon his knee. A wave of hurt swept over me, that he should
plunge so indelicately into facts which were for me so shrouded in
sentiment.
I said, “Suppose I begin from the very beginning, Dr. Harding, giving
you a bit of my childhood background and adoration for your brother?”
He acquiesced and relaxed slightly.
I recalled my childhood, my father’s friendship with his
editor-brother, my love of Warren Harding, which began when I was
scarcely thirteen, my father’s death when I was about sixteen, my
subsequent schooling at the expense of my father’s college classmates,
my first meeting with Mr. Harding in New York following my request to
him for a position, and, gradually, our further meetings which led to
ultimate intimacies prompted by mutual love.
After I had got into the meetings with Mr. Harding which were all-night
trysts, Dr. Harding interrupted me many times to ask, “When was that?”
or “Where did that meeting take place?” and I supplied from memory the
approximate time and place. All of this information he jotted down in
his little notebook. It was as difficult for me to recall aloud for
the doctor the many occasions of our sweet visits together as it had
been to recite the whole story to his sister, Daisy Harding, but the
knowledge that I was doing it for Elizabeth Ann gave me the needed
courage to go on.
I had not dreamed that Dr. Harding intended to catechize me as a
judge might a witness, and I wondered if by so doing he had thought
to frighten me into confusion. But this was an unworthy thought. The
seriousness of the situation probably justified in his eyes the use of
pencil and pad and direct questions. Dr. Harding is rather a small man,
and somehow, seeing him sitting there on the edge of the chair, plying
me with questions as to “when?” and “where?” aroused my pity. If his
brother Warren were only there! _He_ would say, as he did once before,
“Let this poor little girl go--_I’ll_ answer your questions.”
I could not help associating Mr. Harding’s remark about his brother
with his brother’s very attitude toward me now. “Brother Deac is the
only man I know who never slept with a woman prior to his marriage,”
Mr. Harding had said to me. And as I looked at him now while I poured
out my story again through tears and exclamations of love for him I
worshipped, it occurred to me that indeed it might be difficult for
such a frail looking individual to understandingly sympathize with a
situation of this kind, which had needed the strength of a love this
man could probably never know to yield the glory of consummation Warren
Harding and I had experienced.
_159_
In the two hours we were together I gave Dr. Harding as detailed
information as I could. I showed him my copies of the guardianship
papers and the adoption papers, and he looked them over very carefully
and took notes upon them. I showed him the letters I had from his
brother, the early letters which contained no love allusions and which
Mr. Harding had permitted me to keep. These letters did not interest
him much, apparently. He seemed particularly interested in _dates_ and
_exact places_. I wondered vaguely at his wanting these so definitely,
for up to that time they had remained with me only because of their
dear associations, and it had not occurred to me that anyone would care
to _trace_ them. It seemed inconceivable that anyone should doubt my
story, hearing it from my own lips. However, this was Dr. Harding’s
manner of ascertaining facts, and I was eager to help him in any way I
could. I volunteered to go with him, or alone, to the hotels where his
brother and I had been, in an endeavor to trace for him the exact dates
in the instances where I could not recall the day, week, or month.
I inquired of him if he knew of a particular physical trouble his
brother had. He looked at me questioningly and I explained. The doctor
disclaimed knowledge of this condition, and I concluded that he had not
professionally looked after his brother’s ailments.
I described the layout of Mr. Harding’s senate offices, and told the
doctor I had been in both of them, and gave him the numbers on the
doors.
It seemed to me that Dr. Harding evidenced some irritancy at my
frankness, and indeed I gave him only the opportunity of squeezing in
his “wheres?” and “whens?” edgewise. But there was so _much_ to tell,
and my only fear was that I would not tell _every_thing. However, I
had been very tired even when I started, and finally I became actually
_voice_-tired. The doctor’s expression throughout had remained stonily
impassive, even when I drew pictures so sacred to me that my body shook
with feeling at their remembrance. Now he looked up.
“Well, what is your idea of a settlement provided we can ascertain
these things to be true which you state to be facts?” I thought, “Oh,
sweetheart Warren, you know how difficult this has been for me! You
know how it hurts me, cruelly, cruelly, not to be believed!”
Then I said to Dr. Harding in a voice which seemed to me suddenly
strengthened, “I think Elizabeth Ann should have that to which she is
rightly entitled as his daughter.”
Dr. Harding looked up quickly, his face full of consternation--the
first visible signs during our conference that he was moved at all by
my revelations.
“Why, you mean--” he stammered, “you mean _all_ of the Harding
Estate--for that would be what she would get as his daughter!”
Oh, God! I thought. Was Tim Slade right, after all? Could it be
possible that these people, _these Hardings_, were loath to part with
_money_, even a little of the money left to them by the man whose
daughter’s rightful claims I had been prosecuting with my spoken words?
Impossible! I spoke with outward calm to the doctor.
“No, I do not mean that at all. I mean that she should get a fair
amount, say $50,000, to be put into a trust fund so that she would have
a monthly income to live upon.”
I may have imagined the seeming relief in his voice as he answered,
“And is that _all_?” He was writing in his little notebook.
“No,” I answered, “I think also that I should have enough to settle my
indebtednesses which were incurred directly as a result of my attempt
to keep my daughter with me during my marriage, and $2,500 would
allow me to settle these debts and have a balance upon which to ‘turn
around,’ as it were.”
All this was jotted down in the notebook, apparently verbatim.
Dr. Harding started to rise. “And, Dr. Harding,” I said, “you will
understand that I would appreciate having this arrangement start as
soon as possible, because it means so much to me in making my plans
to have Elizabeth Ann.” The doctor’s face registered anger. “I most
certainly refuse to be hurried in my investigations,” he said. I
hastened to assure him that I did not wish to hurry him, but on the
contrary wished him to take all the time required to establish the
truth of my statements, and I myself would do all in my power to aid
him, thus perhaps expediting the investigations.
“But I must know whether or not you people wish to do this for
Elizabeth Ann,” I said, “because there is a man in Washington who
has volunteered to attempt to raise such a fund among Mr. Harding’s
most intimate friends.” I am sure the doctor did not mean to betray
the alert interest and alarm I so clearly read in his query, “Who is
it?” I explained that I was not at liberty at present to divulge the
gentleman’s identity. Dr. Harding moved toward the door. I rose to
follow him downstairs. I do not remember that Dr. Harding thanked me
for the interview, but I remember that I thanked him.
We joined his sister and her husband for dinner. Dr. Harding ate
hurriedly, saying he had to return to Columbus to attend school
exercises in which his daughter was taking part, and bade us goodbye.
I thanked him again for coming out in the storm forty-five miles to
talk with me and could not help wondering why he seemed to accept this
little speech with seeming impatience.
_160_
When Daisy Harding and I were doing up the dishes that evening, I
said to her, “Why, you said he would probably be very severe in his
remarks to me. He wasn’t so terrible--just wanted to know dates. I was
not afraid of him.” I did not add that rather had I felt sorry for
him. Miss Harding replied that he had threatened to “pin me down” to
every little thing. However, he hadn’t needed to contemplate any such
strenuous course of action, for I was all too ready to talk freely and
truthfully. Miss Harding sighed. “Brother Deac is not well. I wouldn’t
be at all surprised if he were to go any day; his heart is very weak.”
I said I was sorry to hear that. I was pretty weak myself.
I told Miss Harding that her brother had asked me for the dates of the
two checks which I had sent personally to my sister Elizabeth, for the
baby’s care, in amounts of $500 and $525, and I had promised to send
these to him. Also he had asked me for the date upon which Mr. Harding
had sent me my watch, and this date, also, I would send him from New
York immediately upon my return.
I did not think Miss Harding seemed anxious for me to remain over
until the following day, and so I decided to return on the late train
that night. Her husband, Mr. Lewis, bade me goodbye and retired early,
leaving Miss Harding and me to talk together until my taxi came. Ralph
Lewis seemed to be such a dear, and I have often wondered exactly what
is in his mind as to my _liaison_ with his wife’s brother. Yes, I
thought, as I shook hands with him that night, I would give a lot to
know just what Ralph Lewis thinks--the good-natured man who used to
sell me sour pickles in his grocery-store--when I was a little girl!
_161_
Again Daisy Harding and I went over the ground we had already covered
in our talk the previous June, and on into uncommented territory as
well.
The Marion High School, where Miss Harding had taught for perhaps
twenty years, had voted some time back to change its name to the
“Harding High School,” and I knew Miss Harding had taken great pride
in this. But Miss Harding’s statement to me, in a voice that betrayed
apprehension, “If this should get out, Nan, they would take the Harding
name away from the high school!” only made me realize more keenly
how pitifully narrow was the thinking which would place the fear of
revealment above the desire to do the right thing by their brother’s
child.
And the possibility itself was ridiculous. Had not hundreds of public
men been unconventional, and with far less justification than Warren
Harding, and were not their names and deeds written on the calendar of
achievement? Would a handful of people--even the home-town friends of
Warren Harding--decree that because he had become a father he was unfit
for namable perpetuation through any medium whatsoever? If this be the
test of true worth, of real manhood, pray what would become of many of
the statues and memorials and foundations which stand for the names of
world-heroes and benefactors? The strongest of men are weak, and the
weakest are strong, but the fact remains that “a man’s a man for a’
that”!
And what inescapable torment of the mind must my friends be suffering
to pin their fears to another remote possibility--that disclosure would
bring in its wake the condemnation of certain outsiders where their
_religion_ was concerned! Else what prompted Miss Harding to inquire
anxiously, perhaps at the instigation of her missionary sister, “You
don’t think your Aunt Dell knows this, do you Nan?” Poor child! What if
my Baptist missionary aunt _did_ know that the brother of her one-time
friend, Mrs. Votaw, a Seventh Day Adventist, had followed his heart and
as a consequence had become a father out of wedlock? Granted that petty
criticism would ensue, Mr. Harding himself was a Baptist, and it seemed
to me that that would cross the fingers of both churches! But was one
religion and its accomplishments advanced at the expense of another?
Do churches capitalize upon each other? Is this the spirit that Jesus
exemplified? “Do unto others as ye would that they should do to you.”
Would not true Christians tend their own flock, nor heed the strayings
of their neighbors?
And well did I ponder the source of inspiration which led Miss Harding
to insist that in her opinion the safest way out for me was to marry
again. Though I heartily agreed that this would be a way, and possibly
the easiest way, of solving my problem; though I discussed with her the
several eligible possibilities in my life at that time, and my frank
appraisement of each; still, as I told her, the fact remained that such
a course was cowardly unless I were prompted by genuine love of the man
himself, and not by a superficial, blind acceptance of him for the sake
of using his name. And Miss Harding agreed that love would be the only
right basis.
Miss Harding and I discussed the talk I had had that afternoon with
her brother, and I repeated in as much detail as time permitted my
interview with Dr. Harding. I told her that if the matter could not be
settled in a reasonable length of time by the Hardings, I thought I
should be so advised, because, as I had told her brother, I intended
in that event to approach in all seriousness the man in Washington who
had volunteered to raise a fund from the anticipated generosity of Mr.
Harding’s closest friends.
“Why, Nan!” exclaimed Miss Harding in amazement, “you would not
approach _strangers_, would you?”
What rightful thing would I _not_ do for the daughter of Warren
Harding? What would I not give of pride to have her with me, in her
rightful place? Ah, even then did the last vestige of pride die within
me, and the mother spirit to assert itself, it seemed for all time,
when I declared with almost arrogant fervor, “I would do _any_thing to
obtain fair treatment for Elizabeth Ann!”
“But, Nan,” Daisy Harding exclaimed in astonishment, “the money _was
not left_ to you nor to Elizabeth Ann!”
Is justice the result of a few pen scratches? Was not my story in
itself ample proof that provision must have been made somehow, even
though the written word of my daughter’s father had not been found?
Wherefore would a real man lovingly care for his sweetheart and child
during his lifetime and pass on, intentionally leaving a broken-hearted
and destitute love-family behind? And, even granted that his sudden
passing had made impossible the provision he had so often spoken of
to me, did the responsibility cease with his demise? Did not this
responsibility rest upon the shoulders of those whom he had been
able to publicly include in a will whose liberal bequests certainly
indicated his probable generosity to his own daughter?
“My dear,” I replied to Miss Harding, “you do not know _what_ was left,
nor do I, and he would not be the sweetheart I have known had he passed
on without making some kind of provision for our baby.”
Daisy Harding kissed me goodbye as the taxi honked outside, and wished
me a safe journey. As I whirled down Church Street, past scene after
scene so familiar yet so strangely remote, this thought occurred to me:
No one, to my knowledge, except the Lewises and Dr. Harding, knew I was
in Marion, Ohio, on April 1st, 1926.
_162_
I will quote the letter I wrote to Dr. Harding under date of April 4th,
1926, although I received not even an acknowledgment from him. I sent
it to him through Daisy Harding, because I did not have his address at
his sanitarium in Columbus.
“MY DEAR DR. HARDING:
The dates of the checks sent to my sister by me are October 24, 1921,
and November 7, 1921.
The date of the letter I have from Mr. Harding, which was sent the
same time that the watch from Galt’s was chosen and sent by him, is
August 11th, 1917. As I told you, this watch was a birthday gift, and
my birthday is November 9th, but it was given early because I was
greatly in need of a timepiece. His identity in connection with the
purchase of this watch might be ascertained.
I was conscious last Wednesday afternoon when talking with you (rather
_to_ you, for you did little talking!) of reminiscing, and perhaps the
approximate dates which I gave you were not put down chronologically
by you in your notebook. I only wish to say that I shall be very glad
to repeat the whole story to you at any time or to help you in any way
if you run up against anything you are not sure about.
I should also be very glad to give you the names and addresses of
various people who would be able and very glad for Elizabeth Ann’s
sake to tell you certain things in connection with this matter and to
verify other things that I have stated.
If I seem impatient in wishing to have this matter settled as
quickly as possible, it is not at all because I wish to hurry you in
your investigations; because, contrarily, I wish to do everything
in my power to assist you; but I am anxious to make plans for the
very immediate future and I therefore would be very glad if the
investigations were expedited. As I stated to you in Marion, I would
very gladly accompany you to the various hotels, here in this city as
well as to others in Washington, etc., if I could be of service. Of
course, aside from hotel registrations, this thing can be proven and I
mean to keep at it until it is. It would be grossly unfair for me to
expect the Hardings to go into such investigations without giving them
such proof, and from a sufficient number of sources as would scatter
any remaining doubts in their minds as to the authenticity of the
statements made and the absolute right I have had to approach them.
Mr. Harding used to be a great man for doing things on a 50-50 basis
and I have from the first wished to be fair with you people--and to
receive such treatment in return. I am sure I shall.
I hope you reached home safely--it was very kind of you to come out
in such a storm and I was appreciative. Your coming on Wednesday
afternoon enabled me to get off that night and back to New York. I
have just started to work with the above concern, and, as Mr. Harding
once wrote to me about the Steel Corporation, “making good counts with
them.”
Most sincerely,