"I think we can help this young man; do you not think so, Louisa?" said
Emerson, smiling toward Miss Alcott. The whole atmosphere of the room
had changed. How different the expression of his eyes as now Emerson
looked at the boy! "And you have come all the way from New York to ask
me that!" he said smilingly as the boy told him of his trip. "Now, let
us see," he said, as he delved in a drawer full of letters.
For a moment he groped among letters and papers, and then, softly
closing the drawer, he began that ominous low whistle once more, looked
inquiringly at each, and dropped his eyes straightway to the papers
before him on his desk. It was to be only for a few moments, then!
Miss Alcott turned away.
The boy felt the interview could not last much longer. So, anxious to
have some personal souvenir of the meeting, he said: "Mr. Emerson, will
you be so good as to write your name in this book for me?" and he
brought out an album he had in his pocket.
"Name?" he asked vaguely.
"Yes, please," said the boy, "your name: Ralph Waldo Emerson.
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