I was never one of those abnormal creatures who got Christmas all ready by the Fourth of July.  The true spirit of the celebration has just now begun to work on me—­three days late.  In this respect the spirit is very like Christmas plum-pudding.  Moreover, we’ve just got the patriotic fervour flowing at high tide this morning.  This is the President’s birthday.  We’ve put up the Stars and Stripes on the roof; and half an hour ago the King’s Master of Ceremonies drove up in a huge motor car and, being shown into my presence in the state drawing room, held his hat in his hand and (said he): 

“Your Excellency:  I am commanded by the King to express to you His Majesty’s congratulations on the birthday of the President, to wish him a successful administration and good health and long life and to convey His Majesty’s greetings to Your Excellency:  and His Majesty commands me to express the hope that you will acquaint the President with His Majesty’s good wishes.”

     Whereto I made just as pretty a little speech as your ’umble
     sarvant could.  Then we sat down, I called in Mrs. Page and my
     secretary and we talked like human beings.

Having worked like the devil, upon whom, I imagine, at this bibulous season many heavy duties fall—­having thus toiled for two months—­the international docket is clean, I’ve got done a round of twenty-five speeches (O Lord!) I’ve slept three whole nights, I’ve made my dinner-calls—­you see I’m feeling pretty well, in this first period of quiet life I’ve yet found in this Babylon.  Praise Heaven! they go off for Christmas.  Everything’s shut up tight.  The streets of London are as lonely and as quiet as the road to Oyster Bay while the Oyster is in South America.  It’s about as mild here as with you in October and as damp as Sheepshead’s Bay in an autumn storm.  But such people as you meet complain of the c-o-l-d—­the c-o-l-d; and they run into their heatless houses and put on extra waistcoats and furs and throw shawls over their knees and curse Lloyd George and enjoy themselves.  They are a great people—­even without mint juleps in summer or eggnog in winter; and I like them.  The old gouty Lords curse the Americans for the decline of drinking.  And you can’t live among them without laughing yourself to death and admiring them, too.  It’s a fine race to be sprung from.

All this field of international relations—­you fellows regard it as a bore.  So it used to be before my entrance into the game!  But it’s everlastingly interesting.  Just to give him a shock, I asked the Foreign Secretary the other day what difference it would make if the Foreign Offices were all to go out of business and all the Ambassadors were to be hanged.  He thought a minute and said:  “Suppose war kept on in the Balkans, the Russians killed all their Jews, Germany took Holland and sent an air-fleet over London, the Japanese landed in California, the English took all the oil-wells in Central and South America and—­”

     “Good Lord!” said I, “do you and I prevent all these calamities?  If
     so, we don’t get half the credit that is due us—­do we?”