We had come into the war, had been in for a year; but events had not yet taken us out of the well-nigh total eclipse flung upon our character by those blighting words, "there is such a thing as being too proud to fight." The British had been told by their General that they were fighting with their backs to the wall.

Since March 23rd the tread of the Hun had been coming steadily nearer to Paris.

Belleau Wood and Chateau-Thierry had not yet struck the true ring from our metal and put into the hands of Foch the one further weapon that he needed.

French morale was burning very low and blue.

Yet even in such an hour, people apparently American and apparently grown up, were talking against England, our ally.