they began to understand our attitude toward concessions and governments run for profit; they began dimly to see that Carden was a misfit; the Tariff Bill passed; the Currency Bill; the President loomed up; even the Ambassador, they said, really believed what he preached; he wasn’t merely making pretty, friendly speeches.—­Now, when we get this tolls job done, we’ve got ’em where we can do any proper and reasonable thing we want.  It’s been a great three quarters of a year—­immense, in fact.  No man has been in the White House who is so regarded since Lincoln; in fact, they didn’t regard Lincoln while he lived.

Meantime, I’ve got to be more or less at home.  The Prime Minister dines with me, the Foreign Secretary, the Archbishop, the Colonial Secretary—­all the rest of ’em; the King talks very freely; Mr. Asquith tells me some of his troubles; Sir Edward is become a good personal friend; Lord Bryce warms up; the Lord Chancellor is chummy; and so it goes.

So you may be sure we are all in high feather after all; and the President’s (I fear exaggerated) appreciation of what I’ve done is very gratifying indeed.  I’ve got only one emotion about it all—­gratitude; and gratitude begets eagerness to go on.  Of course I can do future jobs better than I have done any past ones.

     There are two shadows in the background—­not disturbing, but
     shadows none the less: 

1.  The constant reminder that the American Ambassador’s homeless position (to this Government and to this whole people) shows that the American Government and the American people know nothing about foreign relations and care nothing—­regard them as not worth buying a house for.  This leaves a doubt about any continuity of any American policy.  It even suggests a sort of fear that we don’t really care.

The other is (2) the dispiriting experience of writing and telegraphing about important things and never hearing a word concerning many of them, and the consequent fear of some dead bad break in the State Department.  The clubs are full of stories of the silly and incredible things that are said to happen there.

     After all, these are old troubles.  They are not new—­neither of
     them.  And we are the happiest group you ever saw.

     W.H.P.

Page’s letters of this period contain many references to his inability to maintain touch with the State Department.  His letters remained unacknowledged, his telegrams unanswered; and he was himself left completely in the dark as to the plans and opinions at Washington.

     To Edward M. House

     February 28, 1914.

     DEAR HOUSE: