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By Root 1753 0

called “little what’s-his-name.” For the most part, Grover wrote, he was feeling “pretty well encouraged.” Things had settled down at Rogers, Bowen & Rogers; he had full access to the firm’s law library for his studies, and his physical presence in a thriving practice allowed him, through continual exposure, to absorb the law. He was proving his worth, he told Mary, and the lawyers at the firm, above all Dennis Bowen, were “very kind to me.” They were even promising him a promotion, but he was worrying about his finances, which, he complained, left him in a state close to poverty. The work was piling on at the firm, but Grover said he didn’t mind—“the more I do, the more I learn.” He told Mary that he was looking to find a room to rent before he overstayed his welcome at the Allen house. He had also had enough of trudging two miles to work and two miles back every day, so he wanted a place of his own close to the law office. He was going to check out another boardinghouse when he got off work that evening.

A month later, Grover finally found a place to live that fit his budget, and moved into the dreary $40-a-week room in a second-class hotel at 11 Oak Street in town. Like any robust young man just starting out, he tried to keep his spirits up, even if his pocket was feeling “light.”

New Year’s Eve 1855 found Grover in a contemplative mood. Buffalo had been hard hit by a wicked northeaster that had slammed the Mid-Atlantic states before heading into New England. The streets were slicked over with ice, and gentlemen with plans for the evening were cautioned to wear cork-bottomed heels for traction, particularly if they intended to drink wine or hard liquor. Apparently, the nineteen-year-old lad had no plans for New Year’s Eve, which he dismissed “as any other day to me and no better.” He sat in his room all night, feeding anthracite into the heater to ward off the “dreadful” chill. On the bustling street outside his hotel room, Grover could hear the steady jingle of sleigh bells. In the distance came cannon fire and the celebration of the New Year. He was already lamenting the slow decay of his once-lithe frame, owing mainly to his overindulging himself at meals and his steady consumption of beer, which would have truly upset his father. He missed his siblings; his brother Cecil had not written in months, and Grover had no idea where he was. On the whole, he wrote Mary, he was trying to be happy—“though sometimes I find it pretty hard.”

One year later, Grover was living at the Southern Hotel at Seneca and Michigan Streets. He had a roommate, though they were so poor the only room they could afford was a low-ceilinged cockloft. Christmas held no special meaning for Grover; not one relative or friend had sent him a gift. He spent a pleasant New Year’s Day attending a performance of acrobats at a Buffalo theater, and then, to his relief, the holidays were over. He found himself back at work on a Sunday, January 3.

Grover’s grievances started piling up the moment he entered the office at 9:00 a.m. and found it to be as cold as an icebox. He was entering the second year of his apprenticeship at Rogers, Bowen & Rogers, and Henry Rogers and Dennis Bowen, he told Mary, were assuring him that if he continued doing well, “I’ll make a lawyer.” Under the new arrangement with the firm, he was now being paid $500 a year—an “enormous sum,” he acerbically called it.

“O God! That bread should be so dear, and work should be so cheap,” Grover wrote Mary. It was getting under his skin. He had come to the conclusion that the partners at Rogers, Bowen & Rogers were exploiting his hard labor.

“I am so ashamed of myself after allowing such a swindle to be practiced upon me. It shows how selfish the men I have to do with are, and how easy it is to fool me.” As he thought more about the deal, his irritation grew. “From the bottom of my soul I curse the moment in which I consented to the contract.” For extra cash, Grover had arranged to take a brief leave from the law firm to assist Uncle Lewis in the publication of the next annual edition of