The President himself took Dick over the White House and through the conservatories; and when he returned to the hotel he found one of Darling’s short letters waiting for him. “Brounlows announce ten thousand ‘Through Sleepers’ sold up to to-day,” the letter said. “The Transport fellows propose to give you a dinner at Delmonico’s. You fix the date and wire answer.” It did not take Dick long to prepare the answer. “Dinner declined with thanks,” he telegraphed. So many congratulations had been a worriment to him for some time, and he was sure he could not stand a whole evening of it around a dinner table. But he was not to get out of it so easily. “Cannot be declined,” Darling wired later in the day; “arrangements all made. Fix the date.” Very reluctantly he selected the next Thursday evening, and necessarily he returned to New York on the Thursday afternoon. He expected to feel uncomfortable, with everybody staring at him and talking about him in one of Delmonico’s great private rooms, but it proved different. “The old man” himself was there, and Darling, of course, and Mr. Brown, who was in Dr. Goode’s place, and Jack Randall, and about fifteen more from the Transport office, and men from several of the other papers--all of whom Dick knew; and with great thoughtfulness they had invited Mr. Davis, the editor of The Russellville Record, Dick’s former employer. Several members of the Brounlow firm were present, too; it was a real family party with no strangers to chill the atmosphere. When the coffee cups came round after dinner, the diners were not content to abide by the toast program they had made, but began to shout for “Sumner! Sumner!” Dick was compelled to make a speech, and he did it very modestly and sensibly. He liked to write funny stories, he said, particularly when they paid well; but for real thorough enjoyment nothing suited him as well as regular newspaper reporting. He hoped that no matter what happened he might always be able to devote at least part of his time to reporting and newspaper correspondence; and he wished that his lines might always fall among as able and kind and true a set of comrades as his fellows of the Transport. There was great cheering when Dick sat down, and then came calls for “Mr. Harding! Mr. Harding! The chief!” “Gentlemen,” Mr. Harding began when he arose amid the clapping of hands, “this is an unusual sight for Delmonico’s--a banqueting table upon which no wine glasses appear. I see in this a delicate compliment to the guest we have assembled to honor, who has shown us that he is capable of doing hard work and good work without the use of wine or stronger liquids. You have honored yourselves by honoring his principles in this way.” He went on to pay a tribute to Dick’s character that brought the red flush about the young author’s temples again. He was industrious, he was manly, he was upright; true, solid, unwavering, always in what he thought was right.