As in so many cases, the Navy men proved to be the best of diplomats in the handling of the whole situation, and as the fleet was based on San Juan we could get fragments of news when different ships dropped in for coal. One commander of a converted yacht had been sent to round up a bunch of "generals" in the northern part of the island, and, a Southerner by birth, had been obliged to entertain a luncheon party of some ten or a dozen sable "generals." There was one in particular, a splendid specimen of manhood, six feet four and broad in proportion, who had been silent during the conference and lagged behind as the others went on deck. Approaching the Commander he said in perfectly good American: "Say, Boss, you ain't got an old pair of shoes, has you? I ain't no Spanish nigger; I'se American, I is."

I also had a chance on a small scale to apply Mr. Roosevelt's theory when word reached me of a shipment of ammunition from a small port in Porto Rico, to be used by revolutionists. I ordered the local Chief of Police to seize the ammunition, which he did and then wired me to ask what law he was to act under. I wired him to ship the ammunition to San Juan while I thought up some law to cover the case. I have forgotten just what we did present to the court, and I think we were eventually beaten and the shipment returned to its nominal owner, but as the whole revolution depended upon the supplies arriving on the scheduled minute, our object was attained.

On another occasion I received word that an ex-president of Santo Domingo, with a number of his followers, was going on a yachting party, and I requested the Collector of the Port of San Juan to have the revenue cutter take a little cruise in the Mona Straits. As there were invitations out for a tea on board the cutter for the following afternoon, the Commander refused to follow the suggestion of the Collector. A cable to Washington brought a positive order that he should take the Governor's orders or they would find a commander who would. The tea was postponed, and so was the revolution, and some weeks afterward I had the satisfaction of showing the Commander of the cutter an intercepted letter from the ex-president, in which he stated that every

thing had been going splendidly until the last minute when the activity of the U. S. Government and the sudden despatch of the revenue cutter convinced them that it was impossible to proceed. I have often wondered what the cutter would have done if they had met the yachting party in the Mona Straits-nothing that I know of, but the bluff worked and the picnic failed again.

THE ROOSEVELT SPIRIT

`HE whole little group of figures, the naval

THE

officer placating the Santo Dominican general with a pair of old shoes; the Porto Rican policeman "swiping" the revolutionist's ammunition first and asking as a mere matter of curiosity what law he was to apply to the case; the enraged ladies deprived of their tea on the cutter, all somehow seem to combine to typify the Roosevelt spirit-do it, and do it quickly, and discuss it afterward.

Just before leaving the White House in 1909, after many months of struggle and criticism, responding, I think, to a feeling of temporary discouragement, he said to me: "I have had to be a pioneer, a blazer of trails. Much of my work has been to overcome and overthrow the obstacles in the path of progress. Perhaps too much of my efforts have been exerted in tearing down and clearing away. After me will come, I hope, a period of constructive work made possible by the clearing I have made."

It is too soon to say which will be considered his greatest service to his country. The destruction of evil conditions and the curbing of selfish powers existing prior to his time, or the constructive work, both material and spiritual, conceived, initiated, and started on its way by himself and his aids. But whether in ripping out the old or the building of the new it was as the leader of men more than as the holder of office that he succeeded. The work he laid down will not live so much in Washington as in the factories, the offices, and the homes of America. The written laws on the statute books are mostly the crystalization of the sentiments he aroused in the consciences of Americans, and the vision he gave to American eyes; old truths revivified, old principles reestablished, old virtues restored to American life and business.

there was great scurrying by the hotel management, the Postmaster-General, the AttorneyGeneral, and the White House staff to find me. However, by great good fortune, I happened to be near the hotel about 2:30, and went in to get a bite to eat. I was immediately besieged by the hotel folk, handed a bunch of telephone numbers to call up, and told I was wanted at the White House. These telephone calls were from Hays, Daugherty, and Pat McKenna, the connecting link between the President and the outside world. Each message bore the same refrain, "the President has consented to the interview and the first appointment is to play golf at the Chevy Chase Club, you had better hurry." I rushed down stairs, hailed a passing taxi, and reached my destination just as the clock was striking three. The President received me very cordially and was kind enough not to comment on my coming to play golf dressed in my street clothes, and without any clubs, balls, and other paraphernalia. He did better than that, he borrowed the necessary accoutrement for me from some club friend. This was the beginning of my week with him.

In this story there will be no direct quotations because one of the terms on which the President gave me this opportunity to study him at close range in the White House was that he was not expected to send any message to the American people. It was to be an opportunity for me to form my own opinion based upon his methods of work, his conversation, his home life, and his attitude toward his office as Chief Executive.

Before I begin to describe my impressions of him let me add this additional statement so that my readers may understand that this is in no wise a partisan description of him. I am a life-long Democrat. As an admirer of Wilson I was more than exasperated at what I consider the unjust calumny heaped upon him during the campaign for partisan political purposes and was inclined to attribute it partly to the nominee of the Republican Party; consequently, I came to my task certainly with no prejudice favorable to the new President. On the other hand, I came with a determination to deal out even justice as far as my powers would admit and to tell the story without any prejudice.

The pictures of Mr. Harding never do him justice. The deep lines separating his cheeks from his chin cast a shadow that is increased by the camera. This prevents the people who only know him by photographs from appreciating his

remarkably strong face. The President is tall, well over six feet; his head is covered with irongray hair beginning to get thin on top, and he has a remarkably large leonine head cast on Roman lines. His eyes are large, light blue, and well shaped, and he looks at you directly in the face-a look that is rather disconcerting when he is listening to you, especially when you know that the owner of those eyes is the President of the United States. His head is set upon a remarkable pair of broad shoulders and, as is the case with most tall men, his shoulders are slightly rounded. His body is well knit, with no superfluous flesh. His limbs are sinewy, indicating great physical strength, and his vitality is something amazing. I consider myself quite a good walker, yet on the golf course I frequently found myself eight or ten paces behind him because of my physical inability to keep up with him.

There is a certain engaging frankness about the man that usually goes with the possession of superb physical powers, a something that subconsciously says that he is more than a physical match for the men that he meets and therefore does not need subterfuge.

His head has not been turned in the least by his elevation. While he feels the responsibilities that have been placed upon him, it has not given him any stiffness or hauteur, any sense of importance, or any demand upon the people for recognition of his executive position. This was shown very distinctly in several instances on the golf course at Chevy Chase. There were several parties ahead of us. On account of the rapidity with which the President walks and the quickness of his play we caught up with them. They invariably stepped aside and requested that we precede them. He always refused their proffered courtesy and with a most pleasing smile requested that they continue, nor was there with this any evidence of condescension on his part or of affected humility.

We were playing winter rules and on one occasion the President forgot his rubber tee, leaving it on the field. A young man recognizing that it was the President's, ran up behind him and rather timidly, as if he were afraid that he would offend by addressing the President, said: "Excuse me, Mr. President, but you left this." He accepted it so graciously and so unassumingly that he completely placed the young man at his ease, but as he walked off he said to me rather seriously, "Crawford, I wish

the folks would forget once in a while that I am President."

A rain came up while we were playing, but the President trudged on, saying, "If you boys don't mind this, I don't." His sturdy shoulders, pushed a little forward with determination, showed the only evidence of the discomforts of the rain. Mud on this particular course forms quickly and his low-cut shoes were soon covered, but this made no difference to him.

HIS

ON THE GOLF COURSE

IS humanness was indicated in another manner very pleasing to me. By pressing too hard he had made a bad drive, his ball landing in a deep ditch which the rain had converted into a running stream with the water up to his shoe tops. The President muttered an expletive as any good golfer does, but when I suggested that he lift it out, taking the penalty, he smiled at me rather scornfully and waded into the stream. Using his niblick he made a very clean shot from this unfortunate position and landed on the green. Then he looked at me triumphantly as if he had accomplished some wonderful feat. He was as proud as a country boy used to be with his first pair of red top boots. You may be sure that you have a really human man as President.

Mr. Harding is a neat dresser. His clothes are, in Shakespeare's phraseology, "rich, not gaudy." They are well cut, well pressed, and of good material, but his tastes are inclined to black and sombre colors. He eats his breakfast in a well-quilted wine colored jacket. In his morning hours he wears a sack suit, usually of dark gray, almost black. If he goes golfing in the afternoon he puts on the regulation togs -plaid, a light cap, dark red golf stockings and brown shoes. Underneath his Norfolk jacket he wears a white woolen sweater. But as he grows warm from the exercise off comes his coat, which he sticks under his arm. The President does not dress for dinner unless he is going out or has company.

President Harding, to his subordinates at the White House, is thoughtfulness and kindness personified. I learned this from observation and also by conversation with the members of his personal staff. It matters not how busy he is; if he passes one of them he has a cheery "Good morning: how are you feeling to-day?" He is more considerate of them than he is of himself, saying "that's enough for you to-day. Send someone else to assist me.' His two

young lady stenographers are loud in his praise. Hoover, whom everybody knows has been chief of the White House staff for several administrations, is very frank in his admiration. Pat McKenna, the old reliable Pat, whom everybody must interview before they see the President or Mr. Christian, confidentially informed me that the new President was a "peach."

His daily routine proves that the President's job is no cinch. I am sure that he is not a union man, because he violates the eight-hour law twice every day, his usual day lasting about seventeen hours. He arises every morning before seven o'clock, shaves himself, takes his morning exercise, and then reads the papers, especially the editorials touching upon national and international affairs, until Mrs. Harding is ready for breakfast, which, she mournfully assures me, he insists shall be at the unearthly hour of eight o'clock, regardless of the fact that they have been up until the wee small hours of the night before. More important still to her, she is supposed to be present at this meal. As soon as breakfast is over he hurries to the executive offices. Only stopping long enough to pat the Airedale, Laddie Boy, on the head, he immediately proceeds to work and is busily engaged in reading and signing state papers until the hour for his appointments to begin, usually at nine-forty-five. He works with great rapidity, determines quickly on the papers submitted to him, signs those that he has already prepared the night before, and makes pencil notations in the margins of letters to be answered by his secretary. This early morning work is absolutely essential because long before the hour that he has set to receive visitors, the executive offices are crowded with men bent on one of two missions-or more usually both-to congratulate him as the new President and to whisper in his ear their perfect willingness to serve him as United States District Attorney at Kalamazoo, or Ambassador to Timbuktu. I almost believe that every other man who voted the Republican ticket at the last election has sought some political appointment, and am reasonably certain that I am the only man who, having had an opportunity, has not asked him for some political favor.

To this vast throng are added Senators and Congressmen who are interested in special bills or who desire to learn the executive wishes concerning pending legislation; or possibly it is more correct to say, "to discuss with the President the pending legislation."

The President's reception of his visitors is cordial. He either has a remarkable memory for names and faces, or has been secretly informed by his ever faithful secretary, Christian, as to the who, what, and why of his next visitor. He has a warm hand clasp of evident sincerity, and they leave him with pleasant tastes in their mouths regardless of the fact that he has been particularly careful to make no promises that he cannot fulfill, the usual formula being something like this: "I assure you, Senator, that the application of Mr. Jones will have due consideration and you may be assured that your recommendation will be given due weight." I felt like suggesting that it would be an excellent idea to have a phonographic record made of this statement; it would save time. I do not wish to give the impression that Mr. Harding is practising deception, only that his natural kindliness and thoughtfulness prevent him from being blunt and inconsiderate of his callers, and his natural carefulness, from making positive promises that he may not be able to keep, for there aren't enough offices to go around. Let me remark that the President is no sychopant. He receives with equal cordiality Senator Lodge, Speaker Gillett, ex-speaker Cannon, and Squire Jones of Cross Roads, Ohio, the only difference is that he addresses the squire as Bill if he knew him as such back in the old home state. These visits continue at about ten minute intervals throughout the morning.

LUNCHEON AT THE WHITE HOUSE

UNCHEON is served at the White House

LUNG

at one o'clock, and the President almost always has invited some visitor with whom he wishes to discuss further than was possible during the limited time of the interview of that morning the questions which he had submitted. Therefore, his luncheon hour is really one of the busiest times of the day. After he has eaten he returns to the executive offices where he signs more papers until the next appointments begin. While he works hard he works good naturedly; looking up at me, he would say with a quizzical smile, "Kind of dull, isn't it Crawford, sitting there watching me work?" or, "I never had to write my name so many times in my life." When Christian came in and told him of the arrival of another lot of visitors he remarked, "I never knew I had so many friends." We made the picture on page 74 to illustrate this story at one of these sup

posed rest periods at which he said, "Can you make these pictures while I am signing these papers, because I haven't time to stop?"

On the instruction and advice of his physicians, who recognize that the President has a hard and strenuous time before him and that it will be necessary for him to have some recreation if he is to be able to withstand the stress, he usually tries to play golf two or three afternoons a week. Unless he plays golf his appointments continue until nearly six o'clock, when his real work begins. He calls his stenographers and begins to answer the voluminous correspondence of the day, after which he spends his evening and far into the night (Mrs. Harding says it is not night but two and three in the morning) in thoroughly familiarizing himself with the questions which are to come before him on the following day.

No description of life at the White House would be complete unless it included an account of Mrs. Harding, because she is an integral part of her husband's life. She has a graciousness all her own that makes you feel at home if you are visiting the White House. When you apologize for causing her so much annoyance and taking up so much of her time she replies, "You must remember that I am an editor's wife, and therefore have a deep sympathy and fellow feeling for newspaper men. I know how Warren used to delight in getting a good story and I am glad to help other newspaper men do the same thing." When it came to making pictures to illustrate this story, Mrs. Harding was perfectly willing to follow the advice and instructions of the photographer. While their photographs were being made she was discussing with me with great vivaciousness the particular virtues of the new household pet, Laddie Boy, and laughingly assured me that the publicity given to this new acquisition of the White House seems liable to produce an inundation of the White House by dogs of high and low degree; also by cats, monkeys, bears, and alligators, and threatens to convert the White House grounds into one monster zoo, for people all over the country are writing and telegraphing that they are sending the President a new pet and companion for his Airedale.

Mrs. Harding is a gracious hostess. She makes her guests comfortable and makes them feel at home. You forget, indeed, that you are conversing with the First Lady of the Land and with the mistress of the White House, until you suddenly remember that the dignity