# The President's Daughter (Britton)/Chapter 11

When spring came, and graduation day was drawing near, I decided I might now safely appeal to Warren Harding to help me to a position in the business world. I felt sure I could do myself credit and he would not have to be ashamed to recommend me for a position. I could, of course, have depended upon many other sources for situations, and in fact Mrs. Phelps kindly intimated that the Paderewskis might wish to take me to California with them, Mme. Paderewski having evinced a certain fondness for me. But I had other plans. Mr. Harding's words to my mother back in Marion in 1914, "Maybe I can do something sometime for Nan," recurred to me again and again. So one afternoon I stayed at school and wrote, after many revisions, and after destroying dozens of sheets of perfectly good Y. W. C. A. paper, and without saying a word to a soul, the following letter, a carbon copy of which I retained:
New York City May 7, 1917
Hon. Warren G. Harding
United States Senate
Washington, D. C.
My Dear Mr. Harding:
I wonder if you will remember me; my father was Dr. Britton, of Marion, Ohio.
I have been away from Marion for about two years, and, up until last November, have been working. But it was work which promised no future.
Through the kindness of one of my father's Kenyon classmates, Mr. Grover Carter, of this city, I have been enabled to take up a secretarial course, which course I shall finish in less than three weeks.
I have been reading of the imperative demand for stenographers and typists throughout the country, and the apparent scarcity, and it has occurred to me that you are in a position to help me along this line if there is an opening.
My experience is limited; I have done some work for Mr. Carter this winter; I have also been doing publicity work in the afternoons while going to school; the latter has been in connection with Madame Paderewska's Polish Refugee work. Now that I am about to look for an all-day position I do so want to get into something which will afford me prospects of advancement.
Any suggestions or help you might give me would be greatly appreciated, I assure you, and it would please me so to hear from you.
Sincerely,
Nan Britton
Three days later, toward evening, when I came home from school, I spied a large envelope on the hall table. It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting and bore the United States Senate return. I tore it open. At first my eyes swept the pages unseeingly, noting only the signature, "W. G. Harding."
Mrs. Carter was in the living-room on that floor and I joined her there. She was an extremely conventional woman and I knew she would not understand or sympathize if I were to confess my intense admiration for a married man. So, with a supreme effort at nonchalance, I told her that I had some days before written to Senator Harding inquiring about a position, and that this was his reply. With forced calm I read aloud to her his letter to me.
The opening sentence was an assurance that he did indeed remember me. He added, ". . . you may be sure of that, and I remember you most agreeably, too." Compared with the warmth of these first sentences the following cordially expressed desire to be of assistance in furthering my ambition to become a secretary held only secondary interest for me.
He said frankly that if he had a position open in his own office he would "gladly tender it to me." The next best thing he said, would be to help me to a government position provided I were secretarially equipped for it. To this end he inquired specifically what I had been trained to do. He suggested that I accompany my next letter with a note of recommendation, parenthetically emphasizing that this note was not for his own satisfaction but for that of the department chief. After this was in his hands he would "go personally to the war or navy department and urge my appointment." He thought that "the ​fact that my esteemed father had belonged to the party now in power" would help.
He mentioned the maximum departmental salary of $100 per month, but warned me that I would probably have to be satisfied with an initial salary of $60. Such positions as were available might last only during the period of the war, he said, and added, "which we all hope will not be long—however, it may be very long."
The latter paragraphs thrilled me. He wrote that there was "every probability" of his being in New York the following week! If he could reach me by phone or "becomingly look me up," he would do so, and "take pleasure in doing it."
The whole tone of the letter was one of utmost cordiality. I could scarcely refrain from uttering exclamations of delight. I took my things and went upstairs to my room where I could reread the letter alone.
My bedroom on the third floor of the Carter home was a joy to me. The house itself stood almost in the shadow of Queensboro Bridge, which spans the North River at 59th Street. My windows faced the southeast and afforded a gorgeous view of the river. On a clear evening the lights of the Williamsburg, Manhattan and Brooklyn bridges looked like arches of stars hung low and twinkling against the sky.
Outside my windows trees were freshly green. Sparrows perched there and chirped joyously. For weeks children had been playing out-of-doors, mingling their cries with a hundred other street noises. And, from the background of these sounds, arose momently the varied shrilling of the river-boat whistles . . .
It all fascinated me. It was so different from any atmosphere I had ever known. At first these very things had made me homesick, but I was growing now to love New York! I liked to watch the barges glide smoothly and with scarce perceptible progress up or down the river. . . . I could even see from my bed in the morning the sparkling water surface dancing in the sun! . . .
​Now I closed my door and seated myself on the sill of an open window . . . All I had dared to hope for from Mr. Harding was a possible letter of introduction from him to someone, either in Washington or New York, to whom I might apply direct for a position. . . . But he himself seemed genuinely interested in helping me! . . . And was coming over to New York, and would see me! . . . Warren Gamaliel Harding!
As the evening deepened, and even as I crept in between cool white sheets that night, the impression grew upon me that under the cordial phraseology of his letter there was more than the mere desire to be of assistance to me. It was almost a sweet ingratiation. . . . "You see I do remember you . . ." was his concluding sentence. . . .
Well indeed had I perceived this hidden warmth! When, upon his visit, I quoted to him those lines which had moved me to feel an underlying sweetness beyond the evident friendliness, he smiled and nodded and confessed to an overwhelming desire to see me after these years. To see me, he said, had been the sole motive for his trip to New York at that particular time!
And so an inexpressible happiness reigned in my heart, even though my impressions had not yet been grounded in fact by his assurances. Therefore I did not allow secret delight to vent itself in written words, but on May 11th wrote the following formal letter:
My Dear Mr. Harding:
It was good to know that you remembered me; and I appreciated your kind interest and prompt response.
As to my qualifications: I will say frankly that I have had little practical experience. As I said in my recent letter, my work this winter has been, in a degree, handicapped by the fact that it has been carried on while I have been going to school; therefore, I could not give it my entire attention. But certainly the little I have done has been wonderfully helpful, and has given me, at least, a start.
I am hoping that you will be in New York next week and that I can talk with you; I am inclined to believe that an hour's talk would be much more satisfactory. There is so much I want to tell you; and I am sure that I could give you a better idea of my ability—or rather the extent of my ability, for it ​is limited—and you could judge for yourself as to the sort of position I could competently fill.
I am almost certain that I will be able to secure a good recommendation—both from Mr. Carter and Mrs. Phelps; if I do not get to talk with you I shall send them to you. This work has been in the stenographic line; this is really the work I want to follow.
If you call Stuyvesant 1900, the telephone number here at school, you would find me here from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon. In case you are able to see me for an hour it would please me immensely to make an appointment—provided it does not interfere with your plans.
Sincerely,
Nan Britton