My love has robbed the summer day —
the field, the sky, the dell,
She has taken their treasures with her, she has taken my heart as well;
An’ if ever, in the further fields, her feet should go astray
May she hear the good God calling her Go’day! Go’day! Go’day!
I got a warm welcome on Monkey Hill. John Trumbull came to dine with us at the chalet the evening of my arrival. McGlingan had become editor-in-chief of a new daily newspaper. Since the war began Mr Force had found ample and remunerative occupation writing the ’Obituaries of Distinguished Persons . He sat between Trumbull and McGlingan at table and told again of the time he had introduced the late Daniel Webster to the people of his native town.
Reciting a passage of the immortal Senator he tipped his beer into the lap of McClingan. He ceased talking and sought pardon.
‘It is nothing, Force — nothing,’ said the Scotchman, with great dignity, as he wiped his coat and trousers. ’You will pardon me if I say that I had rather be drenched in beer than soaked in recollections.
‘That’s all right,’ said Mr Opper, handing him a new napkin. ’Yes, in the midst of such affliction I should call it excellent fun, McClingan added. ’If you ever die, Force, I will preach the sermon without charge.
‘On what text?’ the obituary editor enquired.
’"There remaineth therefore, a rest for the people of God,"’quoth McClingan solemnly. ’Hebrews, fourth chapter and ninth verse.
‘If I continue to live with you I shall need it,’ said Force.
‘And if I endure to the end,’ said McClingan, ’I shall have excellent Christian discipline; I shall feel like opening my mouth and making a loud noise.
McGlingan changed his garments and then came into my room and sat with us awhile after dinner.
‘One needs ear lappers and a rubber coat at that table,’ said he.
‘And a chest protector,’ I suggested, remembering the finger of Force.
‘I shall be leaving here soon, Brower,’ said McGlingan as he lit a cigar.
‘Where shall you go?’ I asked.
’To my own house.
’Going to hire a housekeeper?
‘Going to marry one,’ said he.
‘That’s funny,’ I said. We’re all to be married — every man of us.
‘By Jove!’ said McClingan, ’this is a time for congratulation. God save us and grant for us all the best woman in the world.
For every man he knew and loved Mr Greeley had a kindness that filled him to the fingertips. When I returned he smote me on the breast — an unfailing mark of his favour — and doubled my salary.
‘If he ever smites you on the breast,’ McClingan had once said to me, ‘turn the other side, for, man, your fortune is made.’
And there was some truth in the warning.