said: "Why, what are you doing with all that money?"

Field, laughing, snatched the bills up and tucked them under the
pillow, saying: "You shan't have it, this is my money." After his
death, the bills, all crumpled up, were found still under his pillow.

It was a common happening in the "News" office, while Mr. Field still
did his work there, for some ragged, unwashed, woe-begone creature,
too much abashed to take the elevator, to come toiling up the stairs
and down the long passage into one of the editorial rooms, where he
would blurt out fearfully, sometimes half defiantly, but always as if
confident in the power of the name he spoke: "Is 'Gene Field here?"
Sometimes an overzealous office-boy would try to drive one of these
poor fellows away, and woe to that boy if Field found it out. "I knew
'Gene Field in Denver," or, "I worked with Field on the 'Kansas City
Times,'"--these were sufficient pass-words, and never failed to call
forth the cheery voice from Field's room: "That's all right, show him
in here; he's a friend of mine." And then, after a grip of the hand
and some talk over former experiences--which Field may or may not have
remembered, but always pretended to--the inevitable half dollar or
dollar was forthcoming, and another unfortunate went out into the
world blessing the name of a man who, whether he was orthodox or not
in his religious views, always acted up to the principle that it is
more blessed to give than to receive.

[Footnote H: NOTE.--See a "Conversation" between Eugene Field and
Hamlin Garland, in which Mr. Field tells the story of his literary
life, McCLURE'S MAGAZINE for August, 1893. Also a series of portraits
of Eugene Field in McCLURE'S MAGAZINE for September, 1893. Price
fifteen cents.]