club were his most enduring pleasures, for there he rested, there he saw
me at home. He acquired an understanding of my endurance of the vast and
terrible town.

Up to this time the story of my doings in the East had been to him like
those of characters in highly-colored romance. He had believed me (in a
sense) when, in West Salem, I had spoken of meetings with Roosevelt and
Howells and other famous men, and yet, till now, he had never been able
to realize the fact that I _belonged_ in New York, and that men of large
affairs were actually my friends. He comprehended now (in some degree)
my good fortune, and it gratified him while it daunted him. He
understood why I could not live in West Salem.

If he was proud to acknowledge me as a son, I, on my part, was proud to
acknowledge him as my father, for as he sat with me in the dining-room
of the club or walked about the Library to examine the relics and
portraits of Booth (for whom he had a passionate admiration) he was
altogether admirable.

At the end of our third day, I suggested Boston. To this he replied,
"No, I've had enough," and there was a tired droop in his voice. "I'm
ready to go home. I'm all tired out with 'seeing things,' and besides
it's time to be getting back to my garden."

To urge him to remain longer would have been a mistake. Boston would
have disturbed and bewildered him. Not only would he have failed to
find the city of his youth, he would have been saddened by the changes.
His loss of power to remember troubled me. He retained but few of his
impressions of Washington, and with sorrow I acknowledged that it no
longer mattered whether he saw Boston or not. He had waited too long for
his great excursion. He was old and timid and longing for rest.

As he went to his train (surfeited with strange glories, crowds and
exhibitions) he repeated that his dinners with me at the club remained
his keenest pleasures. In tasting a few of my comforts he understood why
I loved the great city. He saw me also in an established position, and
this he considered a gain. His faith in my future was now complete.

* * * * *

For years he had talked of this expedition, planned for it, calculated
upon its expense, and now it was accomplished. He went back to his
garden with a sense of pride, of satisfaction which he would share with
his cronies as they met in Johnson's Drug Store or Anderson's Meat
Market. What he said of me I do not kn