England's Man of Destiny whose long career is one continuous and
spectacular public performance was on the job.
But it was not the same Lloyd George who had sounded the call for
Military and Industrial Conscription from the Peaks of Empire. Another
year of war had etched the travail of its long agony upon his features,
saddened the eyes that had always beheld the Vision of the Greater
Things. The little man was fresh from the front and full of all that its
mighty sacrifice betokened not only to the embattled nations but to the
world as well.
Though we spoke of Politics, Presidents and the Great Social Forces that
so far as England was concerned acknowledged him as leader, the current
of speech always swept back to war and its significance for us.
"Since the war means so much to us," I said, "have you no message for
America?"
Throughout our talk he had sat in a low chair sometimes tilting it
backward as he swayed with the vehemency of his words. Suddenly he
became still. He turned his head and looked dreamily out the window at
his left where he could see the throng of Whitehall as it swept back
and forth along London's Great Military Way.
Then rising slowly and with eloquent gesture and trembling voice (he
might have been speaking to thousands instead of one person), he said:
"The hope of the world is that America will realise the call that
Destiny is making to her in tones that are getting louder and more
insistent as the terrible months go by.
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