Edward had not risen to the possession of a suit of evening clothes, and
distinctly felt its lack for this occasion. But, dressed in the best he
had, he set out, at eight o'clock, to call on the President of the
United States and his wife!
He had no sooner handed his card to the butler than that dignitary,
looking at it, announced: "The President and Mrs. Hayes are waiting for
you!" The ring of those magic words still sounds in Edward's ears: "The
President and Mrs. Hayes are waiting for you!"--and he a boy of sixteen!
Edward had not been in the room ten minutes before he was made to feel
as thoroughly at ease as if he were sitting in his own home before an
open fire with his father and mother. Skilfully the President drew from
him the story of his youthful hopes and ambitions, and before the boy
knew it he was telling the President and his wife all about his precious
Encyclopedia, his evening with General Grant, and his efforts to become
something more than an office boy. No boy had ever so gracious a
listener before; no mother could have been more tenderly motherly than
the woman who sat opposite him and seemed so honestly interested in all
that he told. Not for a moment during all those two hours was he allowed
to remember that his host and hostess were the President of the United
States and the first lady of the land!
That evening was the first of many thus spent as the years rolled by;
unexpected little courtesies came from the White House, and later from
"Spiegel Grove"; a constant and unflagging interest followed each
undertaking on which the boy embarked. Opportunities were opened to him;
acquaintances were made possible; a letter came almost every month until
that last little note, late in 1892.
My Dear Friend:
I would write you more fully
if I could. You are always thoughtful
& kind.
Thankfully your friend
Rutherford B. Hayes
Thanks--Thanks for your steady friendship.
The simple act of turning down his wine-glasses had won for Edward Bok
two gracious friends.
The passion for autograph collecting was now leading Edward to read the
authors whom he read about. He had become attached to the works of the
New England group: Longfellow, Holmes, and, particularly, of Emerson.
The philosophy of the Concord sage made a peculiarly strong appeal to
the young mind, and a small copy of Emerson's essays was always in
Edward's pocket on his long stage or horse-car rides to his office and
back.
He noticed that these New England authors rarely visited New York, or,
if they did, their presence was not heralded by the newspapers among the
"distinguished arrivals." He had a great desire personally to meet these
writers; and, having saved a little money, he decided to take his week's
summer vacation in the winter, when he knew he should be more likely to
find the people of his quest at home, and to spend his savings on a trip
to Boston. He had never been away from home, so this trip was a
momentous affair.
He arrived in Boston on Sunday evening; and the first thing he did was
to despatch a note, by messenger, to Doctor Oliver Wendell Holmes,
announcing the important fact that he was there, and what his errand
was, and asking whether he might come up and see Doctor Holmes any time
the next day. Edward naively told him that he could come as early as
Doctor Holmes liked--by breakfast-time, he was assured, as Edward was
all alone! Doctor Holmes's amusement at this ingenuous note may be
imagined.
Within the hour the boy brought back this answer: