After dinner a large reception was held in the salon which, as in all Spanish houses in the tropics, was on what might be called the second floor, the first floor being only a sort of plastered and stone-paved street-level basement. The highly-polished floor of the big room didn’t look to me to be particularly safe and I suppose Mr. Barrett observed my worried looks as it “gave” under the weight of my husband. He hastened to reassure me by telling me that he had taken the precaution to have it shored up with heavy timbers under the spot where Mr. Taft was to stand to receive the long line of guests. He seemed to consider this a fine joke, but I thought it a most commendable measure.

When we arrived in Panama we were not at all certain that we should find the country in a state of tranquillity; nor did we exactly; though by prompt action the President had nipped a budding revolution only a short time before. Hostilities had been averted, but the people were in a bad temper and it was thought best to keep them “merely guessing” while the negotiations between the Secretary of War and the Panamanian government were in progress, and much of Mr. Taft’s time, therefore, was spent behind the closed doors of President Amador’s council chamber.