The teachers asked me if anybody had helped me with the poem.

The girls invariably asked, "Mary Antin, how could you think of all those words ?" None of them thought of the dictionary! If I had been satisfied with my poem in the first place, the applause with which it was received by my teachers and schoolmates convinced me that I had produced a very fine thing indeed.

So the person, whoever it was,--perhaps my father--who suggested that my tribute to Washington ought to be printed, did not find me difficult to persuade.
When I had achieved an absolutely perfect copy of my verses, at the expense of a dozen sheets of blue-ruled note paper, I crossed the Mystic River to Boston and boldly invaded Newspaper Row.
It never occurred to me to send my manuscript by mail.

In fact, it has never been my way to send a delegate where I could go myself.
Consciously or unconsciously, I have always acted on the motto of a wise man who was one of the dearest friends that Boston kept for me until I came.

"Personal presence moves the world," said the great Dr.
Hale; and I went in person to beard the editor in his armchair.
From the ferry slip to the offices of the "Boston Transcript" the way was long, strange, and full of perils; but I kept resolutely on up Hanover Street, being familiar with that part of my route, till I came to a puzzling corner.