fter business hours, go
up-town, pay his respects, and thank him in person for his letters. No
person was too high for Edward's boyish approach; President Garfield,
General Grant, General Sherman, President Hayes--all were called upon,
and all received the boy graciously and were interested in the problem
of his self-education. It was a veritable case of making friends on
every hand; friends who were to be of the greatest help and value to the
boy in his after-years, although he had no conception of it at the time.

The Fifth Avenue Hotel, in those days the stopping-place of the majority
of the famous men and women visiting New York, represented to the young
boy who came to see these celebrities the very pinnacle of opulence.
Often while waiting to be received by some dignitary, he wondered how
one could acquire enough means to live at a place of such luxury. The
main dining-room, to the boy's mind, was an object of special interest.
He would purposely sneak up-stairs and sit on one of the soft sofas in
the foyer simply to see the well-dressed diners go in and come out.
Edward would speculate on whether the time would ever come when he could
dine in that wonderful room just once!

One evening he called, after the close of business, upon General and
Mrs. Grant, whom he had met before, and who had expressed a desire to
see his collection. It can readily be imagined what a red-letter day it
made in the boy's life to have General Grant say: "It might be better
for us all to go down to dinner first and see the collection afterward."
Edward had purposely killed time between five and seven o'clock,
thinking that the general's dinner-hour, like his own, was at six. He
had allowed an hour for the general to eat his dinner, only to find that
he was still to begin it. The boy could hardly believe his ears, and
unable to find his voice, he failed to apologize for his modest suit or
his general after-business appearance.

As in a dream he went down in the elevator with his host and hostess,
and when the party of three faced toward the dining-room entrance, so
familiar to the boy, he felt as if his legs must give way under him.
There have since been other red-letter days in Edward Bok's life, but
the moment that still stands out preeminent is that when two colored
head waiters at the dining-room entrance, whom he had so often watched,
bowed low and escorted the party to their table. At last, he was in that
sumptuous dining-hall. Th