"'Why,' he replied in serio-comic vein, 'the President, the Secretary of
War and Me, myself.'

"I promised him to think it over and give him an answer. Next day I
received a letter from the President, making the formal official tender and
expressing the hope that I would not decline it. Yet how could I accept it
with the work ahead of me? It was certain that if I became a part of the
presidential junket and passed a week in the delightful company promised
me, I would be unfit for the loyal duty I owed my belongings and my party,
and so reluctantly--more reluctantly than I can tell you--I declined,
obliging them to send for Gen. Horace Porter and bring him over from across
the ocean, where he was ably serving as Ambassador to France. I need
not add how well that gifted and versatile gentleman discharged the
distinguished and pleasing duty."



III


The last time I met Theodore Roosevelt was but a little while before his
death. A small party of us, Editor Moore, of Pittsburgh, and Mr. Riggs,
of the New York Central, at his invitation had a jolly midday breakfast,
extending far into the afternoon. I never knew him happier or heartier.
His jocund spirit rarely failed him. He enjoyed life and wasted no time on
trivial worries, hit-or-miss, the keynote to his thought.

The Dutch blood of Holland and the cavalier blood of England mingled in
his veins in fair proportion. He was especially proud of the uncle, his