"Suppose, Mr. President," Baxter had put to him, at the same time expressing his amazement at the president's open manner of speech before men he had never even met before ... men perhaps of antagonistic shades of opinion, "suppose I should go out from here and give to the newspapers the things you have just said! How would you protect, defend yourself?"
"Young man, if you did—as you won't—" smashed Roosevelt, with his characteristic of clenched right fist brought down in the open palm of the left hand—"if you did—I'd simply brand you as a liar ... and shame you before the world."
"And so it was that Roosevelt expressed himself freely ... and at the same time protected himself."
We stood on the top of Azure Mound. Baxter was puffing heavily, for it had been a hard climb.
At our feet extended a panorama of what seemed like a whole State.
The wide-spread fields of wheat, of corn, exalted us.
"God, what a glorious country!... no wonder Walt loved America ... in spite of the abuses capital has perpetrated in it."
"Walt Mason?" I enquired, mischievously....
"No," he responded, seriously, "Walt Whitman."