He took and guarded it throughout my address. When he was about to speak, it was my part to return the favour. “No, thanks,” said Roosevelt. “I shall need my hat.” Why? It was illuminating to observe. The audience naturally shaped itself into three separate crowds: those directly in front of the speakers, and those on either side. When the Colonel’s effective oratory evoked applause from the people directly in front of him, he would turn first toward the right and then toward the left, shaking his historic soft hat as he did so, and he thus always hauled the two other crowds into the circle of Mitchel enthusiasm. Purroy Mitchel was, however, fighting his last fight as a St. George against the Tammany dragon: Bennett insisted on running as a straight Republican and, as such, drew thousands of the dyed-in-the-wool Republican votes; the Socialist Morris Hillquit secured the ballots of the Pacifists and pro-Germans in addition to his own party’s. On the eve of election, a party of us concluded our efforts by joining Mitchel in a trip to Camp Upton and addresses to the soldiers there. Coming home, he, Dr. Arthur B. Duel--who had gone along to keep the candidate’s over-taxed vocal-cords in order--Commissioner George W. Bell, and I had a midnight supper at Patchogue. There Mitchel eased his overburdened heart. In a subdued voice that increased the effect of his simplicity and earnestness, this upstanding young man gave a voluntary account of his stewardship. He told us of some of his struggles in office that it would be a betrayal of confidence to repeat, many of his experiences at the Plattsburgh Training Camp, and much of his anxiety to do personally his share in this great World War. As he spoke of his present campaign, he showed that he anticipated defeat, and was philosophically adjusting himself to the conditions he expected to confront on January 2, 1918. Some phrase of his moved me to remind him of our offer of the vice-presidency of the Underwood Typewriter Company: he frankly confessed that he would have been better off had he accepted it, devoted part of his youth to business, and left his riper middle age for public service; but my present belief is that this mood was the fruit of momentary disappointment, for, shortly after, there came a return of his more characteristic fighting spirit, and he was telling us that he would not accept a flattering offer just received from an important corporation--he was again going to act as he had acted five years before and would give his services to his country so soon as his term in the Mayoralty had ended. That course he consistently pursued. His death in a falling airplane at a Texas camp, while qualifying as an army aviator, was mourned by the entire nation. CHAPTER XV A HECTIC FORTNIGHT--AND OTHERS