The Savannah morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1900-current, 1902-04-20

one thing, she may make morning
call upon the President of the United
States, in her own insignificant little
person, unattended and unintroduced,
with as much certainty of courteous
treatment as if she were great gen.
eral, a greater politician, or any other
gun of largest caliber. The average
woman who visits the. national capital
for the first time finds herself strange
ly aglow with patriotism. She kindles
at the sight of Congress turning out
advance sheets of future history, dis
solves in hero-worship at the tomb of
the Father of His Country, and swells
with pardonable pride at sight of the
wealth in our treasury and proofs of
Americas genius and greatness in the
Patent Office, State, War, Navy and
other departments of the government.
But to actually visit the President, in
his holy of holes, the executive office
of the White House, is like deliber-
ately walking onto the moving side
walk of current history, as it were.
When a naturally retiring female de-
cides to do this, she braces herself for
a supreme emotion-and she is seldom
disappointed.
If you were at liberty to walk into
Aladdin's palace in all its olden glory.
l doubt if the sight would thrill you
more than the first interior glimpse of
the White House. We of Washington
have out worn the sensation; but to
stranger, especially of the gentler sex,
the experience is nerve tingling.
Mounting those inside stairs to mys-
teries above seems like going up in
hallnOn-a h1nWanf ira n 81 . fiOn IN q a.
gion charged with extraordinary ozone.
The great waiting room in the second
story is not unlike a stage, all set in
messy green, with actors moving to
and FRO and helpers hurrying on and
Off intent upon their several parts.
The debutante visitor feels herself al
ternately a star actor, a "supe," and
an eager spectator craning her neck
for glimpse behind the scenes. From
innumerable exits comes the suppressed
noise of the national machinery in mo-
ton. Typewriters click sharply, tele-
graph keys beat an irregular tattoo,
pens scratch like a flock of chickens
after spring worms, and people speak
in low tones. Somewhere beyond these
closed doors is the master hand, the
great playwright who controls the
movements of his puppets. Great men
like high lights appear and disappear.
Representative of the press-those
who make and unmake the greatest of
statesmen by strokes of that weapon
which is "mightier than the sword"
gather and disperse. The atmosphere
is. tense, like that which pervades the
ante rooms of courts, or the audience
chamber at the Vatican.
After all, getting into the holy of
holies is the simplest thing imaginable,
notwithstanding your fears and pal
pitations. When the insistant drum
ming of your heart is alloyed, you APP
proach the head messenger is a
grave and dignified man, as BELTS his
responsible position and prefer your
request to see the President, handing
him an ordinary calling-card. The mes
senger does not glance at the latter;
Gt makes no difference to him whether
you are Smith, Jones of We're de We're,
Miss or Mrs but he looks you
through and through with one brief,
comprehensive stare, sharp and cold as
the surgeons knife. 1t is only for half
a minute, but under those wonderful
X-rays of optics you feel that all your
previous life is laid bare and that what
you had for breakfast is made known,
as well as what you are going to do
tomorrow. 1t is necessary inquisi-
ton, because this man acts as the
buffer between the world and the
President rather, as the main buff
fer. There are others. There are
policemen all the way from the street
to the inner corridor of the mansion,
on the lookout for cranks. If one is
crazy enough to successfully simulate
sanity and run the gauntlet of all
these, he will hardly pass the X-rays
eyes of this messenger; and beyond
him is the final buffer, the Presidents
Secretary. Having satisfied himself
that you have not come on murder
bent, or for any other evil purpose
the messenger gives your bit of paste
board to a molasses- colored minion,
who disappears with it behind one of
those mysterious closed doors-the
middle one of the row. The expert
ment is now launched beyond recall,
and you await results with bated
breath. After a lapse of time which
seems a cycle, but is probably about
four minutes, the middle door, upon
which all eyes are glued opens brisk
ly and a natty gentleman comes forth
1t is Secretary Cortelyou and you see
that he holds your card in his hand.
With quick alertness, he scans the
waiting throng through his spectacles
and is directed to you by the messen-
ger. The Presidents private Secretary
is the most courteous of charming of
men. He grasps your hand, expresses
time than it takes to tell it. you are
walking beside him into the Executive
office.
There you find another stage setting,
less confusing, more inspiring. 1t is
an immense relief to discover that the
President is momentarily occupied,
with his back to the audience speed
ing a parting guest through a side
door. So you have time to catch that
"bated breath" and look about a bit.
The scene is like that in the waiting
room of a great physician. The large
and lofty apartments, all in dull GRIM
son as to coloring, is lined with chairs,
and every chair is occupied. each occu-
pant awaiting his turn. The faces of
the walters look strained and eager, as
might those gathered about the pool of
Bethesda, awaiting the disturbance of
the waters. A group of senators are
holding a whispered conference in one
corner; there is an army veteran whose
name is a household word; there a
lobbyist with the strenuous face. A
Southern politician uneasily shifts his
cud to the other cheek; a congressional
delegate from the wild and woolly
West twirls his broad brimmed hat; a
bevy of timid women, one with traces
of tears on her face, have come to
crave pardon for somebody in peril of
her life. Presently the chief execu-
tive turns from the door, and fresh
air and sunlight seem to follow him
to the center of the room. With genial
smile, hearty voice and friendly, reas-
surfing words he goes from one to an