"I have come home . . . Ordinarily a man needs to fall sick by the wayside
or to be set upon by thieves, in order to realize that nine-tenths of the
world is Samaritan, and the other tenth only too busy or too ignorant to
be. Down here he realizes it with no necessity of illness or wounds to
bring it out; and if he does get hurt, you send him to Congress. . . .
There will'be no other in Washington so proud of what he stands for as I
shall be. To represent you is to stand for realities--fearlessness, honor,
kindness. . . . We are people who take what comes to us, and it comes
bountifully; we are rich--oh, we are all Americans here! . . . This is the
place for a man who likes to live where people are kind to one another,
and where they have the old-fashioned way of saying 'Home.' Other places,
they don't seem to get so much into it as we do. And to come home as I
have to-day. . . . I have come home. . . ."
Every one meant to shake hands with him, and, when the speech was over,
those nearest swooped upon him, cheering and waving, and grasping at his
hand. Then a line was formed, and they began to defile by him, as he stood
on the steps, and one by one they came up, and gave him hearty greetings,
and passed on through the court-house and out at the south door. Tom
Meredith and Minnie Briscoe came amongst the others, and Tom said only,
"Good old boy," as he squeezed his friend's hand; and then, as he went
down the hall, wiping his glasses, he asked Minnie if she believed the
young man on the steps had risen from a sick bed that morning.
It was five-o'clock when Harkless climbed the stairs to the "Herald"
office, and his right arm and hand were aching and limp. Below him, as he
reached the landing, he could see boys selling extras containing his
speech (taken by the new reporter), and long accounts of the convention,
of the nominee's career, and the celebration of his home-coming. The sales
were rapid; for no one could resist the opportunity to read in print
descriptions of what his eyes had beheld and his ears had heard that day.
Ross Schofield was the only person in the editorial room, and there was
nothing in his appearance which should cause a man to start and fall back
from the doorway; but that was what Harkless did.
"What's the matter, Mr. Harkless?" cried Ross, hurrying forward, fearing
that the other had been suddenly reseized by illness.