wall. There was no evidence of the bullet penetrating into the
lung. Pulse, 90; temperature, 99.2; respiration, 20; leucocyte
count, .82 at 10 a.m. No operation to remove bullet is indicated
at the present time. Condition hopeful, but wound so important as
to demand absolute rest for a number of days."

(Signed)

"Dr. John B. Murphy.
"Dr. Arthur B. Bevan.
"Dr. Scurry L. Terrell.
"Dr. R. G. Sayle."

The arrival of Col. Roosevelt in Mercy Hospital, Chicago, was described
by John B. Pratt, of the International News service, a correspondent
traveling with the ex-President during the campaign, as follows:

"Any way, if I had to die, I wanted to die with my boots on." Lying on
a hospital bed completely filled by his great bulk, Theodore Roosevelt
made this answer to a question by Dr. Terrell.

He had just talked with the newspaper men who were with his party
enroute. Terrell, coming in at the conclusion of the conversation,
expressed the fear that the ex-President was exerting himself beyond
his strength.

"You do too much," said Terrell. "The most uncomfortable hour I ever
spent in my life was while I sat on that platform in Milwaukee
wondering where that bullet was and in how imminent danger you were.
How could you be so incautious as to make a speech then? It was all
very well for you to say the shot was not fatal but how could you
tell?"

The colonel grinned, raised his arm heavily, trying not to show the
pain that came with every movement.

"I did not think the wound was dangerous," he said. "I was confident
that it was not in a place where much harm could follow and therefore I
wished to make the speech. Anyway, even if it went against me--well, if
I had to die--" and the colonel chuckled grimly, "I thought I'd
rather die with my boots on."

The newspaper men who were with him when out of the darkness came the
bullet that still menaces his life, felt that in that sentence he had
epitomized his unfaltering courage. Never once since has he wavered in
courage. Physically overcome he once sank back, and came as near to
fainting as so strong a man can. All the rest of the time he has been
as serene as a man unhurt.

It was in the gray of this morning's daylight that we caught our first
glimpse of him after the shooting. Standing in the corridor of his
private car as it lay in the North-Western station in Chicago, we heard
Dr. Terrell say:

"Now is a chance to see the old