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There was a great, big, old colored man, who was huge, and whose name, I discovered afterwards, was Callus. He was large and very old. He was one of these old men who had turned almost white. He was very big, very stooped, sort of clumsy looking, with many of his teeth gone, with his jacket spotted as if he'd spilled food on it, his shirt dirty, his shirt cuffs frayed. All or this may spell a poor man, but that's also a peculiar person to have for a receptionist in your outside office, which is what he was. He was an awfully nice, kind, old man I discovered later. I daresay they kept him on because he needed the job, but he wasn't exactly spruce and he didn't hear very well. He was the receptionist.

He was politeness itself when I told him who I was and who Miss Jay was. He bowed and he scraped. He bowed from the waist and put his hand over his heart. He gave us the most ceremonial kind of greeting that he could even think of. He was certainly glad to see me and he wanted to help me all he could. He engaged us in such long conversation that I wondered if I was ever going to get by him to see the Secretary.

Then he finally took us into the next office where two men sat. This was a smaller room than the outside