“In spite of his almost incessant talk, I was impressed with the care he took—the care of a generous, thoughtful host—to bring up topics that would interest and draw out the best from each one of his guests in turn. Von Briesen had worked with him in civic matters in New York, and his praise caused the German to turn shy and rosy as a girl.
“References to books and authors showed much reading the President managed to do, while the rapidity with which his mind worked kept us all on the jump. He seemed to follow the usual processes of reasoning, but to do so at twice or thrice the usual rate of speed, with the result of apparently leaping from conclusion to conclusion, while the rest of us hurried breathlessly after him. I was reminded of that rhyme in which strange animals ‘hilariously hopped from bough to bough.’
“But the impression above all others is of a man living with every fibre of his being, ardently as well as arduously, and having the best time of anybody who ever inhabited the White House.”
The most fascinating pictures of the Roosevelt régime were those made by the Roosevelt children, who were known most distinctively by their pets, the varied assortment of which enlivened the White House and its environs. Theodore, older and more serious-minded, concerned himself with much weightier matters than did his younger brothers, but he was the judge-advocate-general, ranking next to the parents when differences of opinion on the respective merits of the family menagerie had to be settled. Each child had his full complement of dogs, birds, ponies, rats, guinea pigs, or whatever pet he favoured. Upon each of the presidential tours the pet stock was increased. While the presidential train was pulling out of a Western town a little girl tossed a small furry bunch to the President, calling out, “His name is Josiah!” Josiah proved to be a young badger that had to be brought up on a bottle and lived to be a nuisance, nipping at heels and skirts.
A procession of puppies of every breed, colour, and size succeeded to the adoring ownership of these happy children. None who visited the President’s family during his eventful régime will ever forget Algonquin, the small calico pony from Iceland that was Archie’s proud possession and delight, and for a sight of which he longed so fervently during a spell of measles that somehow—nobody told just how—Algonquin got the message that his little master wanted to see him, and, lo!—one day it so happened. When the house was devoid of guests and the father and mother conveniently out driving, the pony was smuggled up on the elevator to the boy’s room for a few minutes’ visit, and convalescence was accelerated thereby.
An officious bull pup almost produced international complications by delaying the progress of an ambassador on his way to call on the President. A small black bear furnished endless amusement with its clumsy antics, while a funny black puppy learned to ride on Algonquin’s back and insisted upon being taken along when Archie took a ride.
Archie had a kangaroo rat that was always peeking out of his pocket and sociably accepting tidbits, indifferent to its high position.
Rabbits, squirrels, and chickens all had their day of popularity, and when they died they were formally and properly interred with all possible funeral pomp and ceremony, and with elaborately marked headstones placed above them in the pet cemetery.
Kermit, like his eldest brother, was also a naturalist as a little boy. He, too, roamed the woods and swamps of Oyster Bay and scoured the country around Washington in search of specimens.
Not even pets, however, rivalled the joy of a game or a romp of the children with their father, who was always a boy with his boys, and from the experiences of his own health-handicapped boyhood knew just how much sport meant to normal boys. It was a likable trait in him that his understanding of boys was not limited in its sympathy and expression to his own sons, as this little incident shows: