October 27, 1912. After dinner to the Teatro Verdi in Little Italy, where I gave the Italian speech I have been preparing. They asked me to read from the daily paper Wilson’s insulting remarks about the Italians, taken from a book of his. When I had finished I tore the paper in two and threw it on the ground. This _coup de théâtre_ was much applauded and reminded me that I had once studied for the stage with Tommaso Salvini, that he had offered me a place in his company and drilled me in the part of Desdemona. The Italians gave me lovely yellow chrysanthemums tied with the national colors, red, white and green. * * * * * October 28, 1912. Early meeting of the Executive Committee to plan the work for this, the last week of the campaign. At eleven started for a noon rally at the Corliss Engine works. In the evening Burke Cochran was the drawing card at headquarters. I held the rally till he arrived and then faded away while he spoke like a demigod. Such superb oratory I have rarely heard. He spoke for two hours and at the end we all begged him not to stop! Very tired at night, to bed at eleven-thirty. Holding out pretty well; I think few are putting in as many hours a day. * * * * * October 29, 1912. Started for the office at nine; finding it not yet swept, went to Mr. Shehadi, our treasurer, for counsel. He reported $112 in the League’s treasury. Decided we must draw on Newport for enough at least to pay the expenses at headquarters. Shehadi gave me delicious Egyptian coffee and _such_ Turkish delight! Did some work at headquarters and started at eleven-thirty for a long “Flying Squadron” day with Mr. Dresser, Mrs. Algeo, Mr. Humes, and Mr. Tuttle. Esmond the first stop. Next to Chepachet, where we found darkest Rhode Island, indeed. No one welcomed us until at last Abe Hawkins, the blacksmith, a tiny man with nothing but the color of his hands to mark his strenuous trade, invited us to speak in the space or common before his forge. “I am the sheriff of this town, and I guess you folks will be given a show!” he said, gallantly. Boniface, the innkeeper, most hospitable, but very discouraging in his views. One citizen who asked me not to quote him said: “There’s nothing doing here. Every vote in this town is controlled--well, bought, if you like the word better--by two or three men in the pay of the machine.”