So the circle completed itself. We now come back to September, 1917. Here again was this young Robert Emmett at my house and the first thing he said was a sort of echo of what he had said five years before:
“Morgenthau, do you think I ought to run again for Mayor?”
Memory paints him to-day as he stood there then, a hero to a vast number of New Yorkers, often erratic, frequently ill-advised, but still a justified hero. His dark brown hair was disordered, his Irish grey-blue eyes were bright, but he looked more matured and considerably more care-worn from his many fights and the scars they had left, than the man who had sought my advice in 1912.
It was an affecting situation. During four years he had done his best for the City, and that best had disappointed the professional office holders through his fixed determination to protect the tax-payers he had alienated the vast army of municipal employees; finally some of his investigations had antagonized the adherents of certain of the Catholic charities; and he undoubtedly felt that the chances for his reëlection had been considerably diminished. Ought he to endeavour to complete the task that he had set himself or was it useless to make further efforts? My advice was the reverse of what it had been the last time:
“You have given the public the impression that you would run again. You must not drop out at the last moment; you must not retreat under fire; you will have to be the standard-bearer of good government in this election even if you are conscious of an impending defeat.”
For any writer of fiction, this episode would complete the chain of coincidences, yet truth forged another link. There was formed a citizens’ committee to conduct a mass meeting in City Hall Park at which speakers representing the un-bossed element of all parties should urge Mitchel to run again for Mayor. Charles Evans Hughes was one of these speakers; so was Theodore Roosevelt. The others were my old friend Outerbridge and myself. Thus it befell that here was Mitchel in office and urged to remain by the men who had previously played at such cross purposes in connection with his career.
That was an almost unique political event. The young Democratic Mayor, still flushed from his fight for Preparedness, was flanked by two outstanding Republicans, a recent Presidential candidate, and a popular ex-President; shoulder to shoulder with these stood the head of the New York State Chamber of Commerce, and myself as a representative of the Wilson Democrats. One and all, we called upon him to stand again for Mayor.
The lighter touch was not lacking. As, following Mr. Outerbridge and Mr. Hughes, my turn to speak arrived, I turned toward Colonel Roosevelt and, recalling his famous exclamation about throwing his hat into the ring, said:
“I’ll now throw my hat upon the steps.”
“No, no,” said the Colonel: “let me hold it!”