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"Have some cheese with your pie, won't you? It must be so lonely at your age! What do you do for a living?" "I have a little place in Devonshire Street. My name is Crooker. You'll find me up two flights of stairs, back room, at the right. Come and see me, and I'll tell you all about my business, and perhaps help you to such a place as you want, for I know several business men. Now don't fail."
Florence Kollock Crooker of Michigan, Frank K. Foster of the State Federation of Labor, Mrs. Livermore, Professor George E. Gardner of the Boston University Law School, Mrs. May Alden Ward, president of the State Federation of Women's Clubs, Mr. Blackwell and Mrs. Mead. The State meeting was held at Attleboro, October 21, in the Opera House, with the usual list of well known speakers.
Come and see me, and I'll tell you all about my business and perhaps help you to such a place as you want, for I know several business men. Now don't fail." And Mr. Crooker wrote his address, with a little stub of a pencil, on a corner of the newspaper which had led to their acquaintance, tore it off carefully, and gave it to Bert.
Hume and Crooker were on the north side of the river confronting Laws; McKenon was at Prince Edwards; the cavalry column was moving in the direction of Appomattox Station; the second and Sixth Corps were moving to the north side of the river to attack the next day; Mullett was pushed to the south side to Buffalo Station; the Fifth and Twenty-fourth Corps were moving on Prospect Station, south of the river, to prevent Laws from escaping in that direction; Orden was following Sherlin, having taken with him Griffith, with instructions to attack the head of Laws's column.
He offered him a chair, then turned to lock up the money in a safe. "So this is your place of business?" said Bert, glancing about the plain office room. "What do you do here?" "I buy real estate sometimes sell rent and so forth." "Who for?" asked Bert. "For myself," said little old Mr. Crooker, with a smile. Bert stared, perfectly aghast at the situation.
I am all alone in the world now; and I am nearly seventy years old." "It must be so lonely, at your age! What do you do for a living?" "I have a little place in Devonshire street. My name is Crooker. You'll find me up two nights of stairs, back room at the right.
This, then, was the man whom he had invited to dinner and treated so patronizingly the preceding Thursday! "I I I thought you were a poor man!" "I am a poor man," said Mr. Crooker, locking his safe. "Money doesn't make a man rich. I've money enough. I own houses in the city. They give me something to think of, and so keep me alive. I had truer riches once, but I lost them long ago."
And Mr. Crooker wrote his address with a little stub of a pencil on a corner of the newspaper which had led to their acquaintance, tore it off carefully, and gave it to Bert. "Herbert Hampton, Dealer in Newspapers," the old man read, with his sharp gray eyes, which glanced up funnily at Bert, seeming to say, "Isn't this rather aristocratic for a twelve-year-old newsboy?"
"Just at this moment Mullett's division of cavalry came charging down on the enemy's rear. The Sixth Corps again advanced, and a most desperate and bloody hand-to-hand bayonet and saber contest now took place. Our artillerymen opened on the lines of the enemy some twenty guns. Our lines were now closing around them. Crooker had come up with his command and closed the gap.
At the Festival on May 22, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe presided, Miss Sarah Cone Bryant was toastmistress and there were addresses by William M. Salter, the Hon. William Dudley Foulke and others of note. On May 23 at the annual meeting of the New England Association, organized in November, 1868, reports were made from the New England States, and addresses by the Rev. Florence Kollock Crooker, Mrs.
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