"The President's condition has changed for the worse." Roosevelt was thirty-five miles from the nearest railroad station. But he secured a buckboard and, with a driver as daring as himself, traveled through the darkness of night, with fog enveloping, over rough roads, dangerous even in full daylight, traveled with speed, changed horses several times, and reached the railroad at dawn. There he learned from his own secretary, Mr. Loeb, that the worst had come. President McKinley had died. Then by train he sped across the State to Buffalo. And with but little delay, by the expressed desire of the Cabinet, he took the oath of office as President.

Thus the scenes were shifted. Thus the stage of the great drama was reset in a fashion not dreamed of.

The "Power not ourselves" was "making for righteousness", but in an unexpected way. The various prophecies, dimly outlined by admiring friends, came to pass. Theodore Roosevelt was

now President of the United States.

CHAPTER XII

THE PRESIDENTIAL PLATEAU-FIRST HALF

"The President is dead-may the President live!" That is the American democratic translation of the familiar Gallic slogan. Genial, wise, well-intentioned President William McKinley was dead, but the high office continued in the person of Theodore Roosevelt.

The office of President of the United States is, presumably, the highest honor which this nation offers. I figure it as a plateau. The distance across it is the period of four years. Sometimes the plateau is a double formation, with eight years the distance; then halfway across it stands an inn, for a brief night and a relay of horses; then on through the remaining four years.

To reach the various heights in the world, Alpine and others, some men toil up long, steep, rocky pathways; others climb comfortably up an easy grade in cogged-wheel cars, and still others seem to be shot suddenly, rapidly upward, to the astonishment of everybody, including themselves.

Abraham Lincoln and many others ascended

by the first and most toilsome route. General Ulysses S. Grant, a military hero, a "man on horseback", was carried up rapidly, yet comfortably, by the funicular of popular enthusiasm. While Chester Arthur and Theodore Roosevelt were hurled to the plateau's summit unexpectedly, violently, as volleyed there by an explosion.

All the wiseacres who, for ten years and more, had been pointing out defects in Roosevelt's nature, now awaited eagerly the full, dark revelation of rashness and inefficiency at which they had been craftily hinting. And the first shock to their vanity came when the new incumbent of the White House, with a wisdom worthy of his great forerunner, model, and ideal, Abraham Lincoln, at once sent forth this message to an anxious nation:

"In this hour of deep national grief, I wish to state that it is my aim to continue, absolutely unbroken, the policy of William McKinley, for the peace, prosperity, and honor of our beloved country."

The owlish wiseacres and acrid prophets of gloom were aghast; and even stanch admiring friends admired the more the self-restraint, the sagacity of this brilliant young statesman, here evincing, as always, his singular blending of diverse qualities, his intellectual grasp so broad that he held at unity in his breast forces, tendencies, which

commonly are mutually antagonistic and inhibitive. Roosevelt had learned much in his post-collegiate course in worldly wisdom, but much remained to be learned. He knew his Albany and his New York, but he did not know the "Solid South." Although his mother was a Georgia woman, and two of his uncles had been active in the Confederate Cause, he had not realized how deeply the roots of racial antipathy extended into the soil of the Southland. Now he was to learn it, and by harsh experience. The incident which illustrates this educative experience of his is not given in his Autobiography.

He continued the plan in the White House which he had followed effectively in his previous official duties. He consulted experts. He has told us that he consulted Senator Lodge, his valued friend, on all kinds of questions. On questions concerning Panama, Algeciras, Alaska, labor legislation, “big business", railway matters, on each of these and many others he was accustomed to confer with special, competent men. Naturally then, as the Negro Problem, sectional yet national, thrust itself upon his attention, he wished to confer with some man of experience in this field. And Booker T. Washington, a negro, Principal of the Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute, was unquestionably the leader of his race, a man keen

in mind, rich in experience, and with wide and deep influence throughout both white and black races, North and South.

Knowing Theodore Roosevelt as we now do, we can see that he was certain in 1901, with his strong sense of justice, to become a champion of equal rights in the South. But he needed to know more fully the situation. And he invited Booker T. Washington to dine with him at the White House. Doctor Washington, more sensitive than President Roosevelt to the inflamed feelings of Southern men and women, wrote him a letter and pointed out the danger of arousing bitter animosity by such an interview. Roosevelt, in his large, generous way, was disregardful of such minor forces and insisted upon the dinner.

The invitation was accepted, the two dined together; discreet Francis Leupp tried to keep the dinner a secret, but newspaper reporters ferreted it out, and the Southern Press blazed forth in fierce denunciation. The President had recently appointed two Southern democrats to important offices, thus giving evidence of an impartial attitude toward the South and the Southern Democracy. But this "insult to the white race" made everybody south of Mason and Dixon's Line forget all equitable office appointments. They seemed to be quite unaware that English Victoria-that queenly