P. which saved me from touching his stirrup and yet
allowed me to speak without raising my voice, and to leave enough of my
mind unoccupied to remember my material and to present it without
betraying the discomfort of my position.
During these rides, and especially when we were walking our horses along
a quiet, shady stretch of road, J. P. sometimes became reminiscent. On
one of these occasions he told me the story of how he lost his sight. As
I wrote it down as soon as we got back to the house, I can tell it
almost in his own words.
We had been discussing the possibility of his writing an autobiography,
and he said, throwing his head back and smiling reflectively:
"Well, I sometimes wish it could be done. It would make an interesting
book; but I do not think I shall ever do it. My God! I work from morning
to night as it is. When would I get the time?" Then suddenly changing
his mood: "It won't do any harm for you to make a few notes now and
then, and some day, perhaps, we might go through them and see if there
is anything worth preserving. Has any one ever told you how I lost my
sight? No? Well, it was in November, 1887. The World had been conducting
a vigorous campaign against municipal corruption in New York--a campaign
which ended in the arrest of a financier who had bought the votes of
aldermen in order to get a street railroad franchise.
Pages:
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167