I shall never forget a talk that took place just two days before the declaration of war.
Mr. Herrick was sitting at his big, flat-topped desk smoking a cigarette and looking out of the open window. He waved his hand toward the cigarette box as he greeted me and pointed at a chair. He continued looking out of the window, but I knew that he saw nothing. There were no preliminaries; only one subject interested every mind in Paris.
"What do you know?" I asked.
"It's bad," he replied.
"Any fresh developments?"
"None you don't already know—but come again to-night and I'll tell you anything I learn."
"What will you do with the Americans—the town is full of them? What about them if it comes?" I next asked. We always referred to the war as just "it."
"Take care of 'em," he announced briefly—then a pause; and he laughed. "Don't know yet that they'll need it—let's hope it won't come."
"But you expect it?"