"Why, that man has an object—can't you see that?" she said easily.
"What kind of object do you mean?" I queried wonderingly.
Her explanation must have been very vague for I can't remember it at all, but I suppose the affectional things that actually did transpire upon our first visit together were things which she would have said proved such 'object' on Mr. Harding's part. But they were all too spontaneous, too sincere to have been premeditated.
Mrs. Phelps afterward asked me one time to give her a letter that she might use to gain a conference with Mr. Harding and I am sure, while I never gave her such a letter, that she changed her mind completely about Mr. Harding's possible purposes toward me so graciously did she voice her admiration of him to me many times.
Upon this first visit, Mr. Harding and I had luncheon at the Manhattan Hotel, in the dining-room on the 43rd Street side. Then we took a taxi uptown to see Mrs. Phelps—to her apartment on 116th Street.
The entrance hall to Mrs. Phelps' apartment was dimly lighted, and when we emerged into the living-room which is on 116th Street Mr. Harding turned to Mrs. Phelps. Except for their acknowledgments of introductions nothing had been said by any of us, and now Mr. Harding remarked pleasantly, "Well, Mrs. Phelps, we people with big noses always seem to get along, don't we?" I had not been long enough in New York and was still too unsuspecting to realize the significance of that remark, though I am confident Mr. Harding meant it all good-naturedly, and I am not at all sure even now that Mrs. Phelps is a Jewess. Within the past year and a half I have been in Mrs. Phelps' apartment and she asked me if I remembered when President Harding, then Senator, had sat in "that chair," indicating an easy rocker.
From Mrs. Phelps Mr. Harding obtained the information that I was rather more than a good stenographer.
