When he was gone,
with the spirit still upon me I talked to the meeting in the hall
till it rose and shouted. My political pet enemy from Richmond
Hill was on the platform and came over to embrace me. We have been
friends since. The memory of that evening lingers yet in Flushing,
I am told.
A picture from that day's trip through Long Island will ever abide
on my mind. The train was about to pull out from the station in
Greenport, when the public school children came swarming down to
see "Teddy." He leaned out from the rear platform, grasping as many
of the little hands as he could, while the train hands did their
best to keep the track clear. Way back in the jostling, cheering
crowd I made out the slim figure of a pale, freckled little girl
in a worn garment, struggling eagerly but hopelessly to get near
him. The stronger children pushed her farther back, and her mournful
face was nearly the last of them all when Roosevelt saw her. Going
down the steps even as the train started, he made a quick dash,
clearing a path through the surging tide to the little girl, and
taking her hand, gave it the heartiest shake of all, then sprinted
for the departing car and caught it.
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