AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PENNSYLVANIAN
Provoked at what I regarded as an attempt to lead us into a cul-de-sac, I arose from the sofa on which MacVeagh and Hollingsworth had been sitting almost lovingly together and, confronting the President, I said:
“Mr. President, these gentlemen are your friends, who have proven their friendship not only since but before you were nominated. You are in the midst of a struggle—you dared to appoint a collector in New York who did not suit Mr. Conkling and he is in arms against you. Mr. Cameron is in alliance with him and the war will soon be waged in Philadelphia as well. You will need real friends. We are here to ask this appointment not so much to advance the fortunes of the appointee but as an indication that you have given us recognition.”
The reference to Collector Robertson sobered him and the smile disappeared. He endeavored to parry.
“But I have given you recognition in the appointment of MacVeagh.”
Here was the opportunity. I pointed my finger at Wayne, who too had recovered from his smile.
“He does not answer. It is true that he is well known as an independent and a reformer and has taken part in all of our counsels. It is just as true that he is a son-in-law of Simon Cameron, a brother-in-law of Don Cameron, and that enables men to say that his appointment was as much due to his family associations as to his political predilections.”
A situation had been laid bare in the presence of both of them. All of the participants in the interview, including Wayne, had become as serious as owls. We had come down from lunar heights to bed pan. As the President dismissed us he shook hands and said:
“I see you know how to take care of yourselves.”
Said Pettit: “Pennypacker, you slid over some very thin ice.”
Said Hollingsworth: “I don't believe a scene like that ever before occurred in the White House.”
