One evening it was arranged that Ann Eliza should tell her story to the guests of the hotel (the Walker House), where she had taken refuge under the protection of the officials of the territory--Governor Woods and Chief Justice McKean, who lived there. I was there also and had something to do with making the arrangements. She did give her story--the most interesting and thrilling story that anybody ever heard. That speech was telegraphed to the Associated Press, and the next day came telegrams from theatrical managers, showmen, and speculators from all parts of the country. One was from P. T. Barnum and another from James Redpath, the owner of the Lyceum Bureau, in Boston, whom I had met and known in Kansas in 1856. It asked her to lecture. [Illustration] Our people decided that if Ann Eliza could tell that story in Washington, we would get some attention and legislation. Up to that time we had been able to get little attention and no legislation. I happened to be available and went to Washington with her. I made a proposition that if she would go on a lecture tour I would manage it. She accepted it. That’s where I first became a manager. Although she was to speak first in Washington, they were determined to hear her in Laramie and Denver en route. I got the schoolroom in Laramie, charged $1.50 a ticket, and sold four hundred tickets, and took in $600 that evening. Next, in Denver, she spoke in the New Baptist Church, the largest auditorium in the city at that time. I remember the night she was to appear in Denver I went to the Inter-Ocean Hotel where she boarded, to escort her to the church, and did not know her. She was dressed up, and--well, she looked very pretty. The leading Methodist minister--she had been converted by a Methodist, and they claimed her--introduced her to one of the largest audiences ever assembled in Denver. Armed with letters of introduction to Speaker James G. Blaine, President U. S. Grant, and many members of Congress, we reached Washington, where we got into the Speaker’s room and she sent her card to Speaker Blaine. He was in the speaker’s chair. He came out and shook hands with her and was half tempted to be a little bit funny and jocose, but he discovered at once that she was a lady, a woman with a cause, and an earnest one, and in a moment his attention was riveted. He did not go back to his chair but sent word to somebody else to take his place, and in a few minutes _somebody_ else came into the speaker’s room, and in not over twenty minutes that room was packed with members of Congress. There was a stampede on the floor, and she held an ovation for two hours. Everybody wanted to see and hear her. Two days after that she did tell her story in Washington. Forty-eight hours later the Poland bill for the relief of the oppressed in Utah was a law.