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—and smile about it. But consider the facts. I was in Washington. I did go to the White House. I was seen to enter. I was in the building plenty long enough to have had this picture taken. Then when I tell you that something happened while I was in there, when I show you a photograph of it—what are you going to do?
This is another instance of tricky photography. This is a composite of two photos. It's crude. I intended that it should be crude. I want to prove to you that it's a fake. You'll notice first that the President's outline is dimmer than mine. As compared with mine, his linen is soiled. Now look for his outstretched hand. It's hidden behind the paper. A skillful photo-retoucher, such as the one who worked on the Averbuch picture, could make the outlines of equal strength. He'd brighten up the President's linen to look like mine. And in a way so natural you'd never know the difference he'd show the Taft fingers grasping the "Appeal." He'd make this whole picture so life-like that you couldn't detect the fake unless you were forewarned. Look at the picture again. You'll see that Taft's right arm falls unnaturally. This same photo artist could paint the right arm in a natural position. That, again, would tone up the picture. I tell yon by the time a tricky newspaper finished with that photo you couldn't tell it from genuine. (See page 16.)
During the strike of the meat wagon drivers in Chicago it came to my attention that eleven photos were made into one. This composite photo showed a caravan of meat wagons being driven through the streets of Chicago. It was guarded on both sides by police walking about six feet apart. They carried revolvers in their hands. Midway down this caravan a wagon was over-turned and a dozen or more men, with union buttons prominently displayed, were jubilantly sticking knives into the heart of a scab. There was no more truth in that photo than in this one.
The Chicago newspapers didn't dare put that picture in the city editions. It was destined for the "bull-
