He caught me at the door of Moffat House and complimented me on the dress I was wearing. It was scarcely a dress at all but one of the new jackets and skirts worn by women office workers, without an iota of brocade or frills. The fine dresses the Fenian ladies had bought me a year ago were showing signs of wear, and the clothes I bought on my modest salary as secretary of the cabinet had far less flair and style. Dan himself was looking prosperous in a light blue foulard suit with a white waistcoat and green silk cravat. I was on my way to lunch. He followed me into the hot sunshine of Broadway and suggested we try a new Irish restaurant that had recently opened on 26th Street, Shanley’s. I was agreeable, and we strolled uptown talking about nothing more formidable than the weather. By now it was the month of July and the heat of New York was at its worst. I sometimes felt like a chop on some giant griddle. Many buildings on Broadway were still decorated with bunting from the recent Fourth of July parade.
