Keen and shrewd, with a Gargantuan appetite for work, Barrett, at the age of some forty years, had already been United States Minister to Siam, Argentina, Panama, and Colombia; he was Commissioner General to Foreign Nations of the St. Louis World’s Fair, and a year or two later held the important post of Director of the International Bureau of American Republics, towards the establishment of which in Washington, Carnegie gave a million sterling. One of his most marked characteristics is his readiness to act in sudden emergency. An open-air gathering in a very small New England town was being held in support of Mr. Roosevelt. From the platform a man with a high forehead and intellectual features was making a speech; clearly and logically he dealt with the manner in which his country was fulfilling its obligations in the Philippines and Panama. The speaker showed remarkable personal familiarity with America’s Far Eastern possessions, and with Central American affairs. Many farmers were in the audience. Seeing this, the orator emphasised one of his points with a homely illustration from farm life, adding: “I know what it is to work on a farm myself.” That was too much for a stalwart young Democratic rustic, who, with others of the same party, had been attracted to the meeting by curiosity. He eyed the speaker’s faultless frock coat, immaculate shirt front and grey striped trousers, likewise the shining hat on the table behind him. Then he arose in his place and blustered out: “What bluff are you giving us? _You_ never worked on a farm! Bet yer never milked a cow in your life!” “Not only have I milked cows,” replied the orator quietly, “but, what is more, I will put up a hundred dollars against the same amount to be put up by you and your party friends—the sum to go to local charity—that I can milk a cow faster than you can. Appoint a committee and produce the cows.” The challenge was taken up. By the time the speech was brought to its close a committee was selected. It consisted of a Democrat, a Republican, and a woman. Two Jersey cows, procured from a neighbouring farm, were driven on to the platform. In full view of the electors each of the contestants seated himself on a milking stool and took a pail between his legs, the orator—“spell-binder” is the Americanism—still in his frock coat, with silk hat tilted on the back of his head. “Are you ready?” came the words. “Go!” The milk rattled in the bottoms of the pails. It was still rattling in the young farmer’s pail when it already had begun to swash in the “spell-binder’s,” and the latter had his cow milked dry before his opponent was half through. The meeting wound up in a blaze of glory for the victor.