f I had not yet won
my case I had, at least, succeeded in having judgment reserved. I went
to work to arrange my arguments for the morrow, to make them as concise
as possible and to divide them into brief chapters in case I should have
as little opportunity for extended explanations as the President had
been giving me. I saw that the whole matter was gloomy and oppressive
to him--that his responsibility was as dark on his mind as our
sufferings--and I took the hint of his amused interest, in order to work
out ways of brightening the subject with anecdote and illustration.

I saw Colonel Lamont on the morrow, and he beamed a congratulation on
me. "You've aroused his curiosity," he said. "You've interested him."

He had made an appointment some days ahead; and when I entered the
President's office to keep that appointment, I found Mr. Cleveland at
his desk, as if he had not moved in the interval, laboriously reading
and signing papers as before. It gave me an impression of immovability,
of patient and methodical relentlessness that was disheartening.

But as soon as he turned to me, I found him another man. He was
interested, receptive, almost genial. He gave me an opportunity to cover
the whole ground of my case, and I went over it step by step. He showed
no emotion when I recited some of the incidents of pathetic suffering
among our people; and at first he seemed doubtful whether he should
be amused by the humorous episodes that I narrated. But I did not wish
merely to amuse him; I was trying to convey to his mind (without saying
so) that so long as a people could suffer and laugh too, they could
never be overcome by the mere reduplication of their sufferings. He
looked squarely at me, with a most determined front, when I told him
that the Mormons would be ground to powder before they would yield.
"They can't yield," I warned him. "They're like the passengers on a
train going with a mad speed down a dangerous grade. For any of them to
attempt to jump is simple destruction. They can only pray to Providence
to help them. But if that train were to be brought to a stop at some
station where they could alight with anything like self-respect, there
would be many of them glad to get off--even though the train had not
arrived at its 'revealed' destination."

I do not remember--and if I did, it would be tedious to relate--the
exact sequence and progression of argument in this interview and the
dozen others that succeeded it.