220 REMINISCENCES OF A JOURNALIST.
I happened to witness one interview which was
sufiicieutly amusing. A widow, or at least a woman
in black, wanted to go somewhere, or set up a school,
or start a mission in some far-away r^on tA Africa,
or do something for sewing-girls — never mind wlmt!
Mr. Greeley, who was up to his eyes in work, re-
peatedly told her to go away, and kept on writing.
But going away was the last thing which the petti-
coated philanthropist proposed to do. She kept on
talking, and Mr. Greeley kept on writing as well as
he could; until at last, in sheer desperation, he
rushed to the speaking-tube which led to tlie count-
ing-room, and bawled querulously through it, **S ^

tot God's sake, send me up five dollars!" The
money cagie up ; and having thrust it into her hand,
and resolutely discouraged the long speech of thanks
which she instantly began to make, Mr. Greeley half
bowed and half put her out of the little room, and
went back to his work with a comjdacent smile
illuminating his amiable face. He had purchased
his time, and had paid a pretty good price for it

It is not easy to reconcile the fine co]a^|XKKf;|rWQse
which Mr. Greeley possessed, and which is so evi-
dent in his political and other public work, with the
almost infantile simplicity which he sometimes ex-
hibited when beset by the impecunious and design-
ing. I attribute many of his mistaken charities to
impatience of interruption. But there were other
and larger swindles practised upon him, which se-
main to this day a mysteiy, unless we assign them.
