* * *

It happened that Colorado Springs was holding a Quarto-Centenary, a kind
of Carnival and Wild-West Pageant, to which Vice-President Roosevelt was
coming as the chief guest of honor, and as soon as he arrived I called
upon him at his hotel. Almost at once he asked, "Where is your wife? I
want to see her. Is she here?"

"Yes, she is staying with some friends," I replied.

"I am very glad to know it. I shall call upon her tomorrow afternoon as
soon as my duties at the carnival are ended."

The thought of having the Vice-President of the United States go out of
his way to make a call upon my wife gave me a great deal of pleasure for
I realized how much it would mean to Zulime, but I replied, "We shall be
very glad to call upon _you_."

"No," he replied in his decisive fashion--"I shall call to-morrow at
four o'clock--if that is convenient to you. Meanwhile I want you and Mr.
Ehrich to breakfast with me here, at the hotel. I shall have some
hunters and rough riders at my table whom you will be interested to
meet."

Of course I accepted this invitation instantly, and hurried home to tell
my wife that "royalty" was about to call upon her.

The Vice-President's breakfast party turned out to be a very curious
collection of mutually repellent, but highly-developed individualities.
There was John Goff, well known as guide and hunter in western Colorado,
and Marshall Davidson, a rough-rider from New Mexico, Lieutenant
Llewellyn of the Rough Riders, Sterling Morton (former Secretary of
Agriculture), a big impassive Nebraska pioneer; Louis Ehrich (humanist
and art lover), and myself--I cannot say that I in any way reduced the
high average of singularity, but I was at least in the picture--Morton
and Ehrich were not; they remained curious rather than sympathetic
listeners. While no longer a hunter I was a trailer and was able to
understand and keenly enjoy the spirit of these hardy men of the open.

True to his word, Roosevelt called at the Ehrich's that afternoon, and
no one could have been more charming, more neighborly than he. He told
of our first meeting, smilingly called me "a Henry George crank," and
referred to other differences which existed between us. "Differences
which do not in the least interfere with our friendship," he assured
Zulime. "Your husband, for example, doesn't believe in hunting, and has
always stood out against my shooting," here he became quite
serious--"However, I've given up