man on earth could extract ten civil words from the taciturn American.

"No man on earth, eh?" said Northcliffe in the sarcastic tone which newspaper proprietors are prone to use with their reporters. "I know one man who could."

The proprietor of the "Daily Mail" put on his hat and coat, left the office, and was not seen for two days. On the morning when he reappeared, the London newspaper carried on its front page a long interview with the man who never spoke for publication.

Northcliffe arrived at the hotel where the American was staying very early in the morning, and with considerable baggage, as if he had just arrived from the Continent. He discovered by glancing at the hotel register the number of the suite occupied by the American. Choosing an adjacent number, he told the hotel clerk that it was his habit to occupy that suite. Fortunately it was vacant, and

the proprietor of the "Mail" moved in.

It was rising time, and pleasant matutinal sounds issued from the adjoining suite. The loud gurgling and splashing of water indicated that the distinguished American was in the midst of his bath. As Northcliffe stood at the entrance to his rooms, darkly considering the tactics of the situation, the American's valet, who was fortifying himself for the labors of the day with a short stroll up and down the corridor, passed by the open door where the "Mail" owner stood. He was politely intercepted and a telegram and a note of respectable denomination were slipped into his hand. The telegram, Northcliffe stated, was one of extreme urgency which did not permit waiting for a regular hotel servant, and it must be delivered to the telegraph office at once. It would take perhaps fifteen minutes. The valet should not, of course, be absent from his master so long, but, on the other hand, there was this crisp Bank of England note which might repay him for his trifling indiscretion. The conflict in the valet's mind-if such there was-was one of the shortest and most decisive battles in history. He went.

insisted that he should remove his hand from its compromising position. But his arm only twitched helplessly and refused to obey. It was frozen to her elbow! To silence the tongue of scandal, it was necessary to propose marriage. But this, in his saner -one can hardly say cooler - moments, he greatly regretted and withdrew.

As I look back upon this prodigious prevarication, it is a wonder to me that the newspaper ever printed it, although I think it possessed real merit as a piece of fiction. But the newspaper did print it, and the next day I was politely received by the refrigerator manufacturer, who told me the real story, which greatly suffered, if I do say it, by comparison with the story already printed.

THE

Northcliffe's Bathtub Interview

THE most skillful interviewer whom I have ever met is Lord Northcliffe. Reporters who have tried to interview him have often learned a great deal about the art. I know I did. He has an uncanny power of listening, a most persuasive gift of silence that commonly turns the tables upon his interviewer. Under the spell of this beckoning attention I remember discoursing quite volubly. Never had I found such a sympathetic audience. It was only afterward that I realized that all the conversation had been on my side. All I had elicited from him was a complete, inviting, and undivided attention.

Early in his journalistic career, when he had just started the London "Daily Mail," he sent out one of his best reporters to get an interview from a distinguished American visitor to London who was known the world over as the most hermetically sealed individual, when it came to interviews, that the press had ever encountered. It was his inviolable rule never to speak for publication. The reporter returned empty-handed, but not particularly downhearted over his failure, since, he maintained, no

Northcliffe, without loss of time, entered the American's rooms and proceeded to the bath. Such confrontations as this leave even the most voluble of us without words. The silent individual, who was at that precise moment painfully trying to scrub inaccessible portions of his back, emitted a noise, to be sure, but it bore little relation to human speech. It was rather more like the sound of an exasperated whale calling for reenforcements. "Have you ever stopped to consider," asked Northcliffe politely, "that what you are trying to do is a physical impossibility? You cannot scrub the middle of your back with your hand. This is a matter to which I have given considerable thought, and it can't be done with any success. It is necessary to use a special kind of brush with a long handle, designed for the very purpose. I have such a brush and will be glad to place it at your disposal." In spite of himself, this suggestion began to encroach upon the American's indignation until it won a large part of his attention. It was, as a matter of fact, a thing that had been secretly troubling him for years-this business of washing the middle of his back-and it was, apparently, so absurdly easy. The American, though no one had ever suspected him of it, also had a sense of humor, and the inconsequential, offhand manner of the stranger's entrance was too much for him. He broke into an uproarious laugh, and the long habit of reserve and silence deserted him, He later spoke freely on all subjects, and the "Daily Mail" got the best interview of the day.

But I must again warn the reader against drawing

Persuading people to talk, and being in a position to use their words later for publication, are two different things. Leaving out of account the censorship, there are more snares and traps set for the correspondent than one would guess. I remember vividly an interview with the first military governor of Brussels, on the evening when the German armies poured into the Belgian capital and took formal possession of the city. The historic Hôtel de Ville, last entered by hostile foot in the days of Napoleon, was seized by the German general and his staff for military headquarters, and, standing in the Grand Place with Richard Harding Davis, I watched German soldiers goosestepping across the square to take possession. The main hall upstairs was instantly converted into a combination billet for officers and staff headquarters, and military cots soon displaced the ancient art treasures of Belgium. One of the walls was decorated with a tremendous allegorical painting, and beneath it there was written in Latin the prayer: "From pestilence, war, and famine, Mary, Queen of Heaven, protect us."

Directly under this fresco was placed the desk of the new military governor of Brussels. The German general was worn out with the day's march and all the cares and anxieties incident to the violation of a neutral country, but he finally consented to receive three of us who represented the American press, and gave a very remarkable circumstantial description of his march through Belgium, which at that time would have crowded all other news from the front pages of the newspapers. It really seemed too good to be true-and it was.

"We would now like to send this statement, which you have so kindly given us, to our newspapers as quickly as possible," we said.

"All right," he answered, or whatever the Teutonic equivalent might have been, "go to it." But he grinned when he said it.

"I have just remembered," he continued after a short pause, "that there is, after all, one difficulty. You could send it in the customary way by wire, but unfortunately the wires are all down or being used purely for military purposes. So that leaves you the alternative of sending your stuff out by mail. Ah! but it is true, the trains have stopped running. So, as it is, you can do whatever you please with this statement, only please go away and let me sleep."

By the time I got out of Belgium and Germany, where the authorities showed the most lively interest in extending our visit, this interview was not worth as much as a Bolshevik ruble. The way of the transgressor has nothing at times on the way of the interviewer.

Mr. Serge Sazonov was one of the most famous and skilled protagonists of the old-fashioned schoo of secret diplomacy. Indeed, my experience with him ranks him as the most secretive diplomat I have ever met. During the first years of the war he was Russia's foreign minister (Continued on page 20)

B

Look at an Atlas-Not a Map

EGINNING July 13, and lasting until July 22, there will be held in Liverpool and Manchester, England, a convention of great importance. It will be a world conference on cotton.

Collier's is hopeful that a large delegation of men of the necessary caliber will represent the United States.

Such a conference would be useful at any time. This year it is especially necessary in view of the changing condition of the textile industry all over the world. Out of it are gathered not only cotton statistics but human statistics. Tables are prepared showing the consumption of cotton, per capita, in every country; the increase in this consumption from year to year; the number of people in the world who are clothed, partially clothed, and naked.

Such a conference is a meeting place for the best minds in the cotton industry. The statistics it gathers are interesting and important, but not more so than the suggestions it makes concerning new uses and markets for cotton.

We mention this one international meeting because it is a type of many others. Some are held here; others are held abroad. Some hold promise of release from future war. Collier's has said before, and says again, that if the war, and the things that have happened since, have taught Americans to think in terms of world affairs, not merely American affairs, we can charge at least part of the war bill up to education and consider the money well spent.

Never again will Americans be able to solve intelligently our own great national problems, or be of service in helping to solve the problems of the rest of the world, by considering merely a map of the United States.

We need a bigger map. We need an atlas of the world.

To

Face it squarely. The United States is not a self-contained nation. We have invested billions to bring our production of such raw materials as cotton, copper, and wheat up to present levels. have anything that approaches normal prosperity, we must look to the rest of the world for a market for our surplus production of such raw materials.

That's half of it. Here is the other half. We must buy from the rest of the world such things as rubber, coffee, silk. Nature has provided neither climate nor soil for them within our own. boundaries.

Behind it all is something that common sense alone would teach us, even if history did not. Consumption goes on, and must go on, so long as people have to eat, have to wear clothes, have to use metals as part of the price of life itself. The world has no great surplus of materials. Buying may be slack. Salesmanship may falter. But there is need for all the raw materials in existence and for all the consumable goods that can be produced.

The new Administration in Washington will have many problems to face. Two stand out. They are less spectacular, less likely to hold the front page than many others of considerably less final importance. Among the issues that interest many individuals and many different groups in the United States, there is the enforcement of prohibition. There is the soldiers' bonus. There is the openshop controversy. There are the Blue Laws. Concerning all these, and many others, thousands of Americans are earnestly partisan on one side or another.

But there are two problems, we repeat, that are not partisan issues at all. Their solution will not merely please one group or another; it will have a direct influence upon all of us.

The first is revision of the tax laws.

The second is new tariff legislation.

Of the tax laws, we say only that they will be revised in a way that will meet with the approval of most people. When it comes to the tariff, however, that great football of American politics, we are not so sure.

Tariff laws in the immediate future must be drawn, not only with a keen understanding of the problems of business and of labor in this country, but of the problems of world rehabilitation that directly affect our own nation's prosperity.

No man or woman is healthy if one part is diseased. The world itself cannot be healthy, and none of its people can enjoy full prosperity, when great territories or nations are diseased.

There are many sick countries in the world that need help if they are ever to get well. There are many other countries that will get sick if the rest of the world is not careful.

Constructive tariff legislation must be drawn in a spirit of give and take. We all stand together. Some industries and interests will have to accept tariffs that will mean less profit to themselves in order that other industries may survive.

It will pay everyone to study the progress that is made in tariff legislation. The news concerning it will be plentiful. We recommend a study of such news to trade unions in their meetings, as well as to chambers of commerce and boards of trade.

Farmers, the keystone of our prosperity arch, are now gazing at a graphic picture of what happens to their own bank accounts when the wheels of world trade are thrown out of gear. We suggest that they read that part of the daily press which tells what our lawmakers are doing with the tariff.

Let us enlighten our neighbor, if we have one, who thinks that America can get along without the rest of the world.

Let us raise our voices in no uncertain terms if it appears that the cloth of our new tariff laws is to be cut with shears sharpened by racial distrust and business jealousy, and measured by the yardstick of political expediency.

In the next few months our legislators will have a chance to show that they have learned by experience to think in terms wider than their own back yard. If they have not, the country will have to do the thinking for them.

As a contribution to constructive thought, Collier's undertakes to print, as soon as available, some of the useful information which it is sure will be developed at the World's Cotton Conference.

HERE

What the Republicans Promised

ERE is something for those who are going to run the next
Administration to read-and heed:

Government at long range is an offense to efficient democracy. For a number of years we have been tending toward centralizing control and administration in the Federal Government. The United States was set up to gain the strength of communities united in a common welfare. The idea of the makers of our Constitution was to have not as much federal government as possible, but as little. This is the very basis of democracy-the maximum of selfexpression of the local community consistent with the rights of other communities, and, finally, the maximum of freedom for self-expression for the individual, consistent with the rights of other men.

"Self-determination" was the expression projected at far-away application of the principle; "democracy" was the war slogan. These words rang out grandly at the very moment that we were losing something of the substance of them at home.

A united America and a democratic America remain facts only while the facts remain. Government of our kind has two functions. It is an instrument for common defense and mutual development. It restrains one part of the people from damaging or discriminating against another part. When it exceeds these functions it ceases. to be an instrument for democracy, and is lurching away from the very foundations upon which it has rested.

The incoming Administration, during the campaign, pledged to us a return of constitutional balance. Curiously enough, it was the Republican voice which was heard in defense of local self-determination, against too much centralization, in favor of little government rather than much, against the extension of Federal powers rather than for their distension.

Good! Let Republican performance square with the pledges.

tops'l off his vessel it means something. I took that gaff tops'l off so if we do happen to run onto one o' those bergs in the dark, why, whoever's on watch'll only have to let her main peak come down by the run, an' when they do she'll just nachrally swing off herself."

The steamer man clucked in his throat: "But I say, captain, suppose in swinging off from one iceberg she runs onto another, then what?"

And Joe said to that: "Lord, man, don't you know when a vessel's tryin' to make a passage she's got to take a few little chances?" And all that night the Mary logged her twelve to twelve

she ever sail in or out past Eastern Point or the Boston lightship.

Look

at the long leaps of her now an'"-he cast a glance to where the upper sails of a big bark could be just seen astern -"an' that big one no more than joggin' behind us!"

"We cert'nly scandalized that big brute drivin' by," said Sam, "though I s'pose their wages'll be waitin' 'em, no matter what kind of a passage they make."

"An' let us loaf an' where'd our families be, hah, Sam? But who could expect that round-bowed an' lumpy quartered kind to sail? But this one! Look at her now, an', for all her leapin', leavin' a wake no wider than if 'twas a sharp knife drawed through the ocean! What a vessel, what a vessel!" Joe studied her straining sails and her sheets like iron bars and the roaring belt of foam she was carrying to leeward, and he looked at Archie

bunk. "What a vessel! You ought to go up on deck an' see her spinnin' the knots off," said Joe to him.

"Only a blooming fool would be up on that deck a day like this," answered Gedge pleasantly.

"Or, of course, the men on watch," replied Joe. "Or me, her skipper, orwhat's Sam tryin' to do?"

Sam had brought her into the wind to let a great sea go roaring down her deck. Joe stepped to the hatchway, drew the slide about an inch, and yelled: "No more o' that, Sam! Keep her a full-a good full always, Sam." And Sam called back: "All right, a good full I'll give her after this. Watch me." And a way she went jumping once more.

"What is she logging now?" asked Gedge. "Oh-h, a good fifteen!" "Fifteen knots! A boat this size!" "Her size? She's a

I

E said no more then because just then across the cabin floor he was heaved; across the cabin floor everybody from the windward bunks and lockers was heaved, and with that there was a great crashing of something coming down on her deck above.

They cleared themselves, and by and by made their way to the deck and looked around. Archie was climbing down out of the weather fore rigging. "I see it comin'," said Archie. "It whistled like a fleet of harbor steamboats and a roarin' white sea with it. I took one peek, and up the riggin' you bet I went."

They looked for Sam. He was hauling himself back over the lee rail by his life line. "I saw it comin' too," said Sam. "But keep her a good full, you said, skipper, and a good full I kept her!"

"You did all right," said Joe. "No fault to you." He looked at the broken mainmast, where it lay in the sea to leeward; he looked at the foremast, still

There was a column on the front page and two columns more on an inside page. Johnnie glanced through them.

"Finished already? Wasn't it wonderful? That terrible storm on those dangerous Newfoundland Banks, and that great steamer seven or eight hundred feet long, seven decks, thirty thousand-or was it forty thousand horsepower?"

"All of forty," said Johnnie. "And her bridge is sixty-five feet above her water line."

"And wasn't it splendid on the part of those saloon passengers to present the captain with that huge loving cup?"

"Wonderful. What do you suppose he'll do with it?"

"Why, that will be an heirloom forever-for his family. A material proof

as the spokesman put it, and as they had it engraved on the cup of his heroism and seamanship in taking that great ship through that great storm on the Grand Banks."

"I guess that captain is all right," said Johnnie. "I guess most o' those steamer people are all right. I know I've met some who are great people, but do you think it is goin' to make better seamen of them to have a lot of old ladies o' saloon passengers swellin' 'em up for doin' what they should be put in jail for if they couldn't do? Where's the danger in the open sea to a steamer of her size?"

"What's that!"

"Just that. Give credit to her black gang for keepin' her engines an' boilers right, but where's the danger to a ship her size in the open sea? Seven or eight hundred feet long and forty thousand horsepower-what do you suppose those little fishing smacks, as you call them, were doing out there on those same Newfoundland Banks while that great steamer was having such a terrible time?"

Which ended the conversation. The man soon went out, leaving his New York paper behind him. Nearing Boston, Johnnie went out, taking the New York paper with him.

Johnnie had business in Boston. It concerned a salt ship. So from the South Station he hurried down to the water front to see about it. Turning (Continued on page 25)

few who did not wear silk shirts. Orestes took the position of stakeholder, to which he had been unanimously elected, without a qualm as to his rough clothing, but he did find himself envying the boys who had money and were now crooning and chanting the mystic words of crap lore:

"Come seben. Umphm-m! Heah I is-Li'l Joe. Shoots ten. Fade me!" "Whar is you, Big Dick? Come on. Baby needs shoes. Be right. Oh, oh, busted molasses jug!"

"I got you faded. Hop along, Sistuh Mary! Come to me-dat's my honey chile! Whoo-ee-ee! 'Leben! Lady luck! You b'long to me!"

There was one of Orestes's friends to whom Lady Luck did not belong. This was Sloofoot. His luck with the galloping cubes was proverbially nil. "Look at 'im," whispered Mannie, nudging Orestes. "He cain' shoot no mo'n nuttin'."

Orestes glanced at the consistent loser whose ill luck was most apparent. His teeth were clenched and his eyes drawn into mere slits with the intensity of his gambling fervor.

"What meks him presist?" he asked. "Sloofoot is de kine," explained Mannie, "what'll spit at a crack fo' all he's got, an' he doan nevah do wins. Look at ole Lif' Laig, he's des habin' his fun outa dat boy. He's already got all Sloofoot's money an', 'fo' de game is oveh, Sloofoot'll hab to borry his own clo'es to git home in."

Now, Hosea was more aggressive in his methods. Without any wish to express dubiety or discontent at Eliphilate's method of rolling the square babies, he, nevertheless, placed his cleaver in a conspicuous position. And, if Eliphilate did so much as slack in his "shakin' befo' de shootin'," one suggestive glance from Hosea in the direction of the weapon was sufficient to cause Eliphilate's swift repentance and a mending of his ways. In consequence, Hosea was winning. Orestes marveled at the richness of his imagination.

"Shake, rattle, and roll, des de same as a truck! An' I's a ridin' in it. Heah I come! Git outa my way! Gwine to jail! Who'll pay my fine? De square babies!"

Hosea was in the way of becoming a prophet, but he did not know it. He was too intent upon his winnings and his triumphant chant. Orestes, expanding in the aura of the game, was seized by an unconquerable desire to take part. It made him restless. He recalled that Slicker Ball, the bootblack at the corner, owed him a small sum. He felt that if he had it he could

double, treble, even quadruple his
money. The sight of Hosea's winnings
unnerved him. He started up hastily.
He would seize the unusual opportu-
nity of winning from Eliphilate, the
professional gambler of Deep Ellum.
"Mannie, you watch de game. I's
gwine git a dollah an' fo' bits from a
guy what owes me, an' come back an'
git in de game 'ginst ole Lif' Laig."

H

E hurried up in the east elevator. As he did so, down in the west elevator came the officers. They had sensed the game, as officers have a way of doing, and the surprise was complete. They bagged the whole party and, when Orestes hurried back, money in hand, were loading the malefactors in the police wagon. Orestes could scare believe his eyes. He felt like the boy who had been asleep when the circus parade came off. The lovely game was over and he had missed taking part. It did not occur to him to rejoice at his accidental escape from arrest. He looked at the money in his hand and groaned.

An officer accosted him. "Boy, is that your truck standing by the curb?" Orestes nodded. "Well, I'll have to borrow it. There's so many of these bloomin' crap shooters, I can't get 'em all in the wagon."

Orestes came to life suddenly. "Yassir, yassir," he said. "I'll go 'long to drive."

That evening, after dinner, Orestes sauntered around the house, across the neatly manicured lawn, to where Mr. Holmes sat smoking. He had

"thought left and had thought right," as the Chinese say, and the result of his excogitations was that this was the best method of approach, in a difficult matter requiring great diplomacy. After dinner was good, and the soothing effect of a half-smoked cigar better. Besides, the drama was to be staged on an irreproachable lawn, made so by his own painstaking efforts. Mist' Bill could not fail in tractability with all this and especially the neat verbal approach which Orestes had selected.

"Mist' Bill, is you got any mo' dem curtum rods?" he asked airily.

Mr. Holmes looked up from his newspaper. "Curtain rods? Yes, I think so." "Wal, I'll hatter git you to tooken a set outa my pay," said Orestes blandly.

"Take a set out of your pay? What for?" Mr. Holmes began to frown with returning consciousness of his porter's unexplained A. W. O. L..

Orestes avoided his master's eyes and replied meekly: "To give to Mistuh Monty."

The effect of the revelation was electrical. "Didn't you deliver Monty's rods?" demanded Mr. Holmes.

"Yassuh, yassuh, I delivered 'em," answered Orestes, batting his eyes swiftly as if expecting a blow, "but he didn' lak 'em."

Mr. Holmes tossed away his cigar. "Didn't like them! What was wrong?"

His employer was not reacting as Orestes had expected; he almost whispered his reply: "Dey wuz bent." "Bent?"-incredulously.

"Yassir, a aksumdent happen to dem curtum rods."

Mr. Holmes had rolled his newspaper into a club, and he now used it to emphasize his words. "Look here, boy," he said, shaking the paper, "you're holding something back. Now, you might as well tell me the whole thing. Out with it! Where were you all afternoon? Come clean!"

When Mist' Bill used that tone there was no use in further parley. Orestes sighed. To have all his elaborate approach come to naught! He took his seat on the steps. "Mist' Bill," he began. "In de fu'st place, I got 'rested."

"I knew it," said Mr. Holmes, looking down at him reproachfully.

"Yassir, 'rested three times. Naw"Orestes corrected himself punctiliously, "naw-des two times an' a half." "Arrested two times and a half!" "Yassuh."

Mr. Holmes shook his head in a baffled manner and motioned for Orestes to proceed. Speech had temporarily forsaken him. The kinks in a negro's brain were sometimes too much for even the clever manager of the Leaf Motor Car Company.

"You recumleck you tolt me to take Mistuh Monty's curtum rods to 'iman' put 'em in his han's?"

"I certainly did, and it shouldn't have taken you more than ten minutes. That's the trouble with you, Orestes. you're weak on the wind-up. You have yet to learn that your errand is not finished until you report back to the shop. Think back over most of your troubles lately, and you'll find that they resolve themselves into failure to return-"

Orestes turned a chiding eye upon his employer.

"Mist' Bill, how could I return till I put 'em in his han's, an' how could I put 'em in his han's when his han's wuzn't dar?"

"Where were his hands?" thundered Mr. Holmes.

"I don' rightly knowswhareveh Mistuh Monty was, I speck?" answered Orestes with Joblike patience. "Don' nobody in de ho-tel know whar he is, so I hatter des stall aroun' an' wait-"

""Serene I fold my hands and wait,'' quoted Mr. Holmes with mock serenity. Orestes looked up quickly, surprised at the uncanny prescience of his boss. "Yassir, dat's 'zackly how come I come to git jugged! It wuz dat yaller gal, Sereny, what runs de elevator. She say she thunk Mistuh Monty is in de basement, so I rid down wid her, but he warn't dar atall-hit wuz some culled boys," finished Orestes with an apprehensive glance, which Mr. Holmes was not slow to recognize as a path leading from the maze.

"What were they doing?" he asked. "Shootin'," said Orestes, naively taking off the curse of gambling by his choice of terms.

"And you joined them," added Mr. Holmes, taking up the story.

RESTES shook his head emphatically. "Naw, suh. I nevah had no money. I des helt de stakes." "Then you got arrested," continued Mr. Holmes.

"Naw, suh, not to say 'rested. De offumcers, dey tuck de truck to carry de boys to jail in, 'kaze dey wuz fiftyfo' an' couldn' all ride in de Black Maria. An' I des go 'long to keep de truck comp'ny an' see don' nobody monkey wid de engine."

"That was the time you were only half arrested?"

"Yassir."

"When was the next time?"

"It wuz 'count o' de stake money. Time I got th'oo payin' dem niggahs' fines, dar wuz fo' dollahs an' six bits lef'. An' don' nobody rightly know who it b'longs to, so all of us went in de alley an' wuz rollin' fo' it-when we got pinched ag'in!"

"I see," said Mr. Holmes, inwardly chuckling. "This was a full arrest, I take it?"

"Yassuh-cumplete."

"Fifty-four," mused Mr. Holmes. "Pretty well-filled jail, wasn't it?"

"Yassir. Dey wuzn't room fo' no mo' 'sep'n two tramps what wuz put in dar dey say fo' fragrancy."

"Hurrah," laughed Mr. Holmes. "Well, how did the boys get out that time?"

"Law, suh, dey had to git out de bes' way dey could. Some o' dem birds is in dar yet. But eve'yone what had a boss or a wife got out. Mistuh Monty, he come down an' picked out his'n hisse'f." "Hand-picked, eh?"

"Yessuh," Orestes went on, oblivious of the irony. "All de bell hops an' cooks an' waitehs in de ho-tel wuz dar. It wuz either pay dey fine an' git 'em out, or shut up de ho-tel."

"I see. Monty just gave the rest of them cursory notice, I suppose." "Suh?"

"Cursory notice, I said."

"Yassir, dat wuz it 'zactly. Cussery! I ain' nevah is heahed sich langwidge! I could feel de skin on my back cu'lin' up an' peelin' off. He sho do wag a wicked tongue, dat Mistuh Monty!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" burst unexpectedly from Mr. Holmes. Orestes looked up surprised. It was always a good sign when his master laughed. Mr. Monty's profanity, as he had cause to know, was no laughing matter, but Orestes was not one to cavil. He took what the gods provided and smiled back at Mist' Bill.

"Well, go on and tell me about the third time you were arrested," said Mr. Holmes, leaning back and lighting another cigar. He was now thoroughly enjoying the story with all the Southerner's indulgence for the negro's aberrations. "Tell me about the next arrest after Nannette got you out that time."

ORESTES elevated his voice in po

lite denial.

wuzn't de time

Nannette got me out! She ain' had time to git dar yet. Mistuh Monty got me out dat time."

"Oh, Nannette got you out the third time!"

"Naw, suh, Mist' Bill," corrected Orestes with patient insistence. "Hit wuz de secon' an' a half."

"All right. Have it your way." Orestes continued: "When Mistuh Monty got th'oo cussin' an' wuz linin'

his niggahs up on de sidewalk, ready to march 'em back to de ho-tel, I thunk I would go up an' put de curtum rods in his han's. But, sho's you bawn, Mist' Bill, I cain' fin' dem curtum rods! I look eve'ywhar, an' finumally I went back in de jail to see if I lef' 'em in dar. An', if you b'lieve me, dar wuz one o' dem yaller, dish-faced, cimblin'-headed niggahs sellin' dem ve'ey curtum rods to a auto man fo' de price to pay his fine wid!"

"No?"

"Yassir, an' I swoop down an' grab dem rods out o' his han' an' bat 'im oveh de haid wid 'em. Yassir," added Orestes with contrition, "I fo'git all 'bout dem rods bein' new, an' I batted 'im hahd. An', fu'st thing you know, dem rods wuz all bent up, an' Mistuh Monty say he cain' use 'em."

"Of course not," howled Mr. Holmes. "But how about the boy's head?"

"Law, suh, dat wuz de leas' trouble. I ain' made no impreshum on dat niggah's haid atall. But de offumcer say we wuz fightin', an' I hab to pay a nudder fine!"

HE

paid!"

"Yassir, Nannette got dar des in time."

"It would have been too bad to have disappointed her."

"Yassir."

and one of the most influential statesmen of Europe. Access to his cabinet, in the low semicircular Government_building which confronts the Winter Palace in Petrograd, was not easy, but when these ceremonious preliminaries were over, you were indeed surprised, as you always are when meeting important Russians, to find how easy and informal was the interview itself.

I left the building in a mood of great exaltation. The great minister had really spoken very freely of facts which usually travel only through the back doors of insinuation and gossip; he mentioned official secrets which everyone had guessed, but which had thus far lacked the guaranty of authority. Glowing with the secrets of high diplomacy, I rushed back to my typewriter to galvanize the world. Being fresh from the interview, and trained in the practice of quoting people, I am sure that the draft of the interview which I sent back to the minister for his approval contained no serious inaccuracies.

But here is where the moving finger of the Russian minister proved itself less indelible than the finger immortalized by the Persian philosopher. It took neither piety nor wit to cancel what it had written-merely a blue pencil. Mr. Sazonov, like many another less famous person, had at leisure repented the burst of confidence to which he had been invited. He fell upon the draft of the interview as if it were a platoon of German Landsturm, with a perfectly devastating effect to the sense. Words he ruthlessly demolished. Phrases he slew with a brutal stroke of the pencil. Sentences suffered such dismemberment and mutilation that they could not stand alone. Whole paragraphs capitulated and ran for shelter.

Deleted, truncated, and disfigured beyond all hope of recognition, this corpse of what had been a famous interview came back to me with a terse explanation in the minister's most felicitous language. He regretted exceedingly that the remarks which I had heard him make that afternoon he did not recall having made. He had, therefore, taken the liberty of somewhat abridging the statement which I had submitted. "Somewhat abridging" was euphemism which should take place with the most classic illustrations of this polite figure of speech.

a

The interview, which I have kept as a curio, reads as follows: “‘Russia . . . and Germany the surprising statement of the Russian

, was

Adventures in Unknown Tongues

T is customary, when you are interviewing in countries where foreign languages are spoken, to take an interpreter with you. But interpreters are a very doubtful advantage. They have an unconquerable proclivity for entering into long private disputes with the person whom you want to interview.

The result is that in the duel between the man you want to interview and the interpreter you are a rank outsider whose presence is merely tolerated. This was true of my first interview with Kerensky. I had asked a young Russian woman, who was perfectly at home in both English and Russian, as well as a number of other languages, to assist me. The entire net result of this interview was that the fair Russian lady received a permit to visit, one of her relatives who had been imprisoned by the revolutionists.

I went without an interpreter to see one Russian minister who spoke nothing but Russian. His secretary, so the secretary informed me, could understand English and speak French.

After I had put the question in English, the secretary translated it into Russian for the minister, who had no alternative except to reply in the same language. Thereupon the secretary decanted the thought into what he imagined was very snappy French, for my benefit. But I am afraid that the idea became somewhat deflected as it wandered through this linguistic medium.

"What," I asked his excellency, via the secretary, "is the prospect of a premature peace between Germany and Russia?"

"His excellency responds," answered the secretary, picking his words with great care, "that a Russian-American

Sometimes, strangely enough, the language barrier to interviewing foreigners becomes a positive advantage. It was an advantage to me in an interview which I once had with the famous Swedist socialist, Mr. Hjalmar Branting. My knowledge of Swedish was even less than that of an American business man I met in Stockholm, who had to make all his business appointments for eleven o'clock. It was the only hour which he could name in Swedish. But Mr. Branting had a fair knowledge of English, and with that courtesy which is common among Europeans who have a smattering of foreign tongues he insisted upon talking to me in English without an interpreter. It is a greater courtesy than it would seem, since it puts the man who is speaking the foreign tongue almost completely at the mercy of the man who is talking his own language. It is hard to fence with foreign words. You cannot easily resort to equivocal and evasive answers, because your vocabulary is not large enough. A reliance upon the delicate shadings of language to confuse and circumvent the listener is beyond you. If you know a language but poorly, there is only one way of saying yes or no.

I

I Get the Perfect Interview HAVE written of some of the difficulties of obtaining interviews and of using interviews after they have been granted, but sometimes correspondents gain quite a reputation from interviews so easily obtained that there is no sport in getting them.

During the first part of the war the telephone rang in my room in a London hotel at a very early hour, which I have always regarded as belonging more appropriately to the night than the day, and I was informed that the British Home Office was impatiently awaiting my arrival. Knowing no reason on earth why the Home Office should show me this attention, unless I was to be deported or interned or courtmartialed for violating the Defense of the Realm Act by leaving my curtain up during a Zeppelin raid, I none the less scrambled into my clothes and a taxi, for it is not wise when you are living in England to take the wishes of the Home Office too lightly. It was, as I have said, very early in the morning, and I was somewhat nervous as I appeared at the Home Office and was ushered into the presence of Sir John Simon, who was then Secretary of State for Home Affairs.

"Now," said the Secretary for Home Affairs after a stenographer had appeared, "I don't know whether you are familiar with the procedure of the British Government in matters of this sort, but the Government would like to make

its views known to the world. "Now, let me see," he went on with a smile, "you ask me this question, do you