SOON Baruch began inviting some of his new political friends down to his estate near Georgetown, South Carolina. Little groups would accompany him in his private car and come back boasting about how many ducks or quail or wild turkeys they had shot. These parties were nothing new for Baruch. He had been giving them for years, but until 1913 most of his guests had been business friends, largely from New York.
The shooting was of course the main attraction. However, many of these guests, who loved to hunt, found the contact with Baruch so stimulating mentally that, when they accepted invitations, they came to look forward more eagerly to conversations with the financier than to the sport the visits promised.
I have never known any man who loved to hunt as much as Joseph T. Robinson, senator from Arkansas during all this period and Democratic leader for many years. Robinson had a terrific temper, and it was of the hair-trigger variety.
If on the golf course he topped his ball, what followed was something to see. He usually played with a senatorial foursome whose slowness was the bane of the existence of other golfers in the club, and if any other players wanted to go through them Robinson was fit to be tied. But Robinson would wait in a duck blind with the patience of Job. He would wallow in mud, be torn by thorns, undergo any hardships or annoyance in high good humor--if he were just hunting. Yet Robinson said to me on one