Feeling more like a parson than a President, last week Mr. Roosevelt bundled up warmly and set off in his limousine to make a succession of sick calls. Through sleet and along roads as slick as glass, he first drove to the Naval Hospital. There he found Secretary Ickes propped up in bed attended by a skeleton staff from the Interior Department, trying his best to disregard a fractured rib sustained when he fell on an icy pavement. Oil Administrator, Public Works Administrator, a holder of five extra-cabinet jobs, Mr. Ickes knows...
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