He laid this on his desk and rose to his feet, raised one hand above
him, and said in deep tones:
"I die for Free Trade, my country, and--and--all that sort of thing."
I saw him jerk a string, and a camera snapped on another table, taking
our picture as we stood.
"Don't die in the House, Mr. President," I said. "Go over into the
Senate Chamber."
"Peace, murderer!" he said. "Let your bomb do its deadly work."
"I'm no bum," I said, with spirit. "I represent _The Rolling Stone_, of
Austin, Texas, and this I hold in my hand does the same thing, but, it
seems, unsuccessfully."
The President sank back in his chair greatly relieved.
"I thought you were a dynamiter," he said. "Let me see; Texas! Texas!"
He walked to a large wall map of the United States, and placing his
finger thereon at about the location of Idaho, ran it down in a zigzag,
doubtful way until he reached Texas.
"Oh, yes, here it is. I have so many things on my mind, I sometimes
forget what I should know well.
"Let's see; Texas? Oh, yes, that's the State where Ida Wells and a lot
of colored people lynched a socialist named Hogg for raising a riot at a
camp-meeting.
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