... Our interests and affections are inseparably interwoven with the welfare and prosperity of the state.... We assure your honorable body that such recognition of our manhood as this petition asks for, is all that is needed to convince the colored people of this state that the white men of the state are prepared to do them justice. Let us also assure your honorable body that nothing short of this, our respectful demand, will satisfy our people. If our prayer is not granted, there will doubtless be the same quiet and seemingly patient submission to wrong that there has been in the past. The day for which we watched and prayed came as we expected it; the day of our complete enfranchisement will also come; and in that faith we will work and wait.[25] Douglass sat staring at the last sheet a long time. The simple majesty of the words rendered him speechless. His voice was husky. “I wish I could have read this to President Johnson today. No words of mine can equal it.” “President Johnson was already incensed by Senator Sumner’s words,” Cardoza reminded him. Douglass was silent for a moment. Then he spoke slowly. “I want to be fair to President Johnson. In criticizing our friend Charles Sumner he said, ‘I do not like to be arraigned by someone who can get up handsomely-rounded periods and deal in rhetoric and talk about abstract ideas of liberty, who never periled life, liberty, or property.’” Douglass tapped the closely written sheets. “Well, here are men who even now are imperiling life, liberty and property. Perhaps he would have listened.” “When he spoke to the Negroes of Nashville before his election, Johnson expressed his eagerness to be another Moses who would lead the black peoples from bondage to freedom.” Cardoza had been in Nashville a short time before. “Notice that even then he said he would do the leading.” There was bitterness in Douglass’ voice. “Apparently he’s not willing for the black man to stand up and walk to freedom on his two feet.” Washington was emerging from the enveloping darkness when Francis Cardoza took his leave. As he walked through the silent, gray street past the Representatives Office Building he saw a light faintly showing through one of the windows. He murmured his thought aloud. “We’re beating a nation out upon the anvil of time. The fires must be kept hot!” * * * * * Inside the building a tired, thin man with deeply furrowed face pushed back his chair and for a moment covered his eyes with his hand. Then he glanced toward the window, and his mouth crooked into a smile. He’d have to explain at home. Again he had stayed out all night. His desk was covered with papers. He would go home now, drink some coffee. That morning he proposed to demand the floor. He had something to say. He paused a moment and re-read one scribbled paragraph: