him, 'Mr. President, if I'm going to paint this picture, I've got to do it in my way. It won't be my first picture, either.'

"That stopped him short. He looked at me anew, for a moment, then put out his hand a second time, and said with his characteristic smile, 'You seem to be the right sort of American; go ahead.' From that moment he let me lead. So we went ahead. And all kinds of things happened. But let me summarize just here and say that I soon saw, from noting the people who came and went as I worked, that this man's foundation aim was to help the under dog.

"I never saw a man's exit expedited so skillfully as was that of a French official who came in, fully uniformed and decorated, to bring a huge volume containing the Personnel of the French Navy, for use by an ally, the United States. I saw the French officer, a Captain or something high, standing near the door, his lips moving, and evidently rehearsing the speech in English which he had prepared. When the right moment came, Roosevelt, who knew the man's errand and did not intend to waste time, went quickly over to him, seized him by the hand, shook it, accepted the big book, asked one or two questions, did not wait for replies, and, all the time, with a smile, yet with a hand on the official's gold-laced arm, was gently

but firmly pushing him towards, and then finally through, the door. It was a good piece of work. And I think that the anxious French officer was quite as glad to have the interview thus ended as was the President.

"Roosevelt was a great man," continued De Camp, "with that simplicity of address which so often is seen in really great men. And he did hate servility and enjoy a man or woman who stood up to him. To illustrate: He had agreed to give me an hour's sitting, each time. This he did, faithfully though impatiently, several times. Then he got into the way of cutting the sitting a bit short by saying, in his most winning manner, 'Now, De Camp, let's go out and take a little walk in the garden.' And out I went with him, two or three times. But one day I held him up. I said, without shading it, 'Mr. President, you talk about a square deal, but you're not giving me that.' 'What do you mean?' he demanded sharply, but not angrily. "This. You agreed to sit for an hour, each time, and you're cutting me out of it.' He took it as I thought he would. He looked repentant and replied, 'Well, I'll do better, after this. I see your side of it.'

"At another time," continued the artist, "I was one of a dinner party at the White House. One of the guests, Mr. N a Yankeefied individual

with a shrill voice, asked me how the President was doing, as a model, as a sitter. And I replied, 'He's a rotten sitter. That's the whole of it.' What was my alarm, a few minutes later, to hear this fellow's shrill voice retailing my conversation to the President himself. Later Roosevelt made his way to me and remarked, 'What's this I hear? Mr. N― tells me that you said I was a rotten model.' Of course I was a bit uneasy, but I knew my man and I put the thing through. I responded, 'Yes, I did say that. And I would have put it even stronger if I had known how. You're on the jump, every minute you are posing.' He was positively delighted. He smiled, then his face grew thoughtful and determined, and he said, 'Wait until to-morrow's sitting! I'll fool you.' And he did, to a certain extent only, however, for I knew what was coming- he stood like a carved statue. He was putting his will into it."

One of my friends, who several times was a guest at the White House, has tried to make me believe that Roosevelt did not mind in the least the ridicule and abuse and falsifying of the newspapers, and that he often read aloud, with laughter, malicious attacks made upon him in their columns. This statement may hold true about my classmate when he was in the bosom of his family. But it does not harmonize wholly with what De Camp narrated.

"One day," said the painter, "as he was standing in position, his Secretary came in and put some press clippings into his hands. He read them, as he always read, with lightning rapidity. Suddenly and angrily he stopped, crushing the slips in his hand, and poured out a stream of the strongest language that I ever heard. He went on for a few seconds thus, consigning a certain New York journal to various Dantean regions. Then his wonderful sense of humor came to the surface. He smiled, and said to me, 'De Camp, if you know any stronger language than I've used, will you please take up the subject where I left off?' I replied, in spirit as in letter, and rolled out some phrases in German, in French and in Italian. He said, "Thanks! I feel relieved. I wish I could use those myself.'

Mr. De Camp continued, "With all its cares and struggles, Roosevelt would have been glad to continue his term in the White House. I said to him one day, 'You have done many things, Mr. President. Among others you have got the heads of the common people above water. They realize, as never before, their power and their responsibilities.' This I said as I worked, and he broke out in rejoinder, eagerly, almost fiercely, with all his spirit and passion, 'I'd like to stay at this post another four years, and I'd have them out, not only

their heads, but up to their waists.' Such a doer of deeds he was. One day he said to me, 'I hate a man who never does anything. Why, I'd rather do something and get it wrong, and then apologize, than to do nothing.'

999

One day, as the sitting was on, a stenographer came in, and Roosevelt began to dictate to her. He grew very absorbed in this, and the sitting was becoming a failure. "Presently," Mr. De Camp told me, "I stopped work and waited and looked significantly at my model. With a laugh he ceased, waved the stenographer away, and explained, "That is an address which I have promised to give at the Sorbonne, in Paris, when I return from my trip to Africa."" So much for Roosevelt's forehandedness or "preparedness" or thoroughness, whichever word you prefer. Verbum sat.

Vigorous, strenuous as was President Roosevelt's official public life, his private family life was almost on a par with it. He spoke from his heart when he wrote, "I have had the happiest home life of any man I have ever known." And this was not alone because of his loving, sympathetic heart, but as much because of his intelligent observance of the psychological laws that govern all human groups, even families.

He shared so many emotions and experiences with the family. He took a deep interest in all the