Indeed, every day had some delightful experience for Page. The performance of the Americans at Cantigny especially cheered him. The day after this battle he and Mrs. Page entertained Mr. Lloyd George and other guests at lunch. The Prime Minister came bounding into the room with his characteristic enthusiasm, rushed up to Mrs. Page with both hands outstretched and shook hands joyously.
"Congratulations!" he exclaimed. "The Americans have done it! They have met the Prussian guard and defeated them!"
Mr. Lloyd George was as exuberant over the achievement as a child.
This was now the kind of experience that had become Page's daily routine. Lively as were his spirits, however, his physical frame was giving way. In fact Page, though he did not know it at the time, was suffering from a specific disease—nephritis; and its course, after Christmas of 1917, became rapid. His old friend, Dr. Wallace Buttrick, had noted the change for the worse and had attempted to persuade him to go home.
"Quit your job, Page," he urged. "You have other big tasks waiting you at home. Why don't you go back?"
"No—no—not now."
"But, Page," urged Dr. Buttrick, "you are going to lay down your life."
"I have only one life to lay down," was the reply. "I can't quit now."
To Mary E. Page[75]
London, May 12, 1918.
DEAR MARY: