An Englishman came in to see me the other day and asked if I’d send $1,000 to Gerard[25] to use in making the English prisoners in Germany as happy as possible on Christmas Day—­only I must never tell anybody who did it.  A lady came on the same errand—­for the British prisoners in Turkey, and with a less but still a generous sum.  The heroism, the generosity, the endurance and self-restraint and courtesy of these people would melt a pyramid to tears.  Of course there are yellow dogs among ’em, here and there; but the genuine, thoroughbred English man or woman is the real thing—­one of the realest things in this world.  So polite are they that not a single English person has yet mentioned our Note to me—­not one.

But every one I’ve met for two days has mentioned the sending of Von Papen and Boy-Ed[26] home—­not that they expect us to get into the war, but because they regard this action as maintaining our self-respect.

Nor do they neglect other things because of the war.  I went to the annual dinner of the Scottish Corporation the other night-an organization which for 251 years has looked after Scotchmen stranded in London; and they collected $20,000 then and there.  There’s a good deal of Christmas in ’em yet.  One fellow in a little patriotic speech said that the Government is spending twenty-five million dollars a day to whip the Germans.—­“Cheap work, very cheap work.  We can spend twice that if necessary.  Why, gentlemen, we haven’t exhausted our pocket-change yet.”

Somehow I keep getting away from Christmas.  It doesn’t stay put.  It’ll be a memorable one here for its sorrows and for its grim determination—­an empty chair at every English table.  But nowhere in the world will it be different except in the small neutral states here and in the lands on your side the world.

How many Christmases the war may last, nobody’s wise enough to know.  That depends absolutely on Germany.  The Allies announced their terms ten months ago, and nothing has yet happened to make them change them.  That would leave the Germans with Germany and a secure peace—­no obliteration or any other wild nonsense, but only a secure peace.  Let ’em go back home, pay for the damage they’ve done, and then stay there.  I do hope that the actual fighting will be ended by Christmas of next year.  Of course it may end with dramatic suddenness at any time, this being the only way, perhaps, for the Kaiser to save his throne.  Or it may go on for two or three years.  My guess is that it’ll end next year—­a guess subject to revision, of course, by events that can’t be foreseen.

But as I said before—­to come back to Christmas.  Mrs. Page and I send you and Mrs. House our affectionate good wishes and the hope that you keep very well and very happy in your happy, prosperous hemisphere.  We do, I thank you.  We haven’t been better for years—­never before so busy, never,