Here is a lad who must take an anæsthetic whenever his nails are cut because of his twisted limbs. And he is smiling and to all appearances happy. The capacity that God gives for suffering is so tremendous, I marvel at their endurance.
I inquire about food and general conditions. They suggest that the food could be better. This is attended to.
We are received politely and with smiles from the crippled lads who are crippled in flesh only. Their spirit is boisterous. I feel a puny atom as they shout, "Good luck to you, Charlie."
I can't talk. There is nothing for me to say. I merely smile and nod and shake hands whenever this is possible. I sign autographs for as many as ask and I ask them to give me their autographs. I honestly want them.
One jovially says, "Sure, and Bill will give you one too." There is an uproar of laughter and Bill laughs just as loud as the rest. Bill has no arms.
But he bests them. He will sign at that. And he does. With his teeth. Such is their spirit. What is to become of them? That is up to you and me.
Back to Sir Philip's, very tired and depressed. We dine late and I go to my room and read Waldo Frank's "Dark Mothers." The next day there is tennis and music and in the evening I leave for London, where I am to meet H. G. Wells and go with him to his country home.
I am looking forward to this Saturday, Sunday, and Monday as an intellectual holiday. I meet H. G. at Whitehall and he is driving his own car. He is a very good chauffeur, too.
We talk politics and discuss the Irish settlement and I tell him of my trip to Germany. That leads to a discussion of the depreciation in the value of the mark. What will be the outcome? Wells thinks financial collapse. He thinks that marks issued as they are in Germany will be worthless.
I am feeling more intimate and closer to him. There is no strain in talking, though I am still a bit self-conscious and find myself watching myself closely.