. . . It is not merely the gold on the dome of the
Capitol that has given it another look to me now.
It was the year 1897. I was about twenty-eight years old, and my
partner, Gardener, was three years younger. He was more worldly-wise
than I was, even then; for while I had been busy with briefs and
court-work, he had been the "business head" of the firm, out among
business friends and acquaintances--"mixing," as they say--and through
his innumerable connections, here and there, with this man and that
fraternity, bringing in the cases that kept us employed. He was a
"Silver Republican"; I, a Democrat. But we both knew that if he was to
get into politics it must be with the backing of the party
"organization" and the endorsement of the party "boss."
The "Silver Republican" boss of the day was a man whom we both
admired--George Graham. Everybody admired him. Everybody was fond of
him. "Why," they would tell you, "there isn't a man in town who is
kinder to his family. He's such a good man in his home! And he's so
charitable!" At Christmas time, when free baskets of food were
distributed to the poor, George Graham was chairman of the committee
for their distribution.
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