filled him with depression. He came to a beautiful park and gazed upon
Lafayette and Rochambeau, then the equestrian statue of Jackson. As he
sat facing the snow-white building with columned portico, the magnolia
blossoms were as incense. Then he could wait no longer and crossed to
the President's office. A policeman stopped him at the steps. He explained
that he had a letter from Judge Long. What! Did this policeman
not know Judge Long?

He sat under a tree, and the policeman walked a few paces away to turn
anon and survey the waiting pilgrim. When the doors opened he entered.
The President would not come for another hour; he would be busy--possibly
he might see him by noon--provided he had credentials.

With a sigh he sank into a chair and was soon asleep.

"Come--this is no cheap lodging house!" The greeting was shaken
into him by a clerk with hair parted in the middle, who disdainfully
surveyed the sleeper's attire.

He who has much on his mind little cares what he has on his back, and
when the youth exploded, "Who are you?" the old fellow's self-reliance
came forth.

Leading the way to the door Dale pointed a trembling finger. "See
that buildin', 'Bub'--and that one yonder, and that patch over there
with Andy Jackson in it? Well, I'm one of the folks that made it all--and
paid for it; and you're one of my hired hands. I've got to keep
so many of you down here I can't afford one on the farm. I want to
see the President--give him this letter--it's from Judge Sylvester Long,
of Point Elizabeth!"