Spat?

Spat?

When The London Times states a fact, a fact it is, with very few exceptions. Should The Times ever prove irresponsible, it would, after years of utmost solicitude, utterly disconcert the digestion of a vast Commonwealth. Likewise the editor of The Times. His position is well nigh that of a state official. His most private statement, his most guarded whisper, will, if overheard, be received with attention, credence, close scrutiny. Editors of The Times are therefore tight-lipped gentlemen, seldom heard from outside their own columns. But after they relinquish their duties. . . .

Last week, a book called Through Thirty Years appeared in England, written by Henry Wickham Steed, one-time editor of The Times. Foreign correspondents of U. S. journals speedily buried their noses in its pages, seeking some illuminative reminiscence that would justify a cable home. Speedily the correspondents found a jewel.

Telling of the Versailles Peace Conference whilom Editor Steed declared: "Clemenceau flatly accused Lloyd George of repeated inaccuracies in his statements. Lloyd George rose and seized Clemenceau by the collar, demanding an apology.

"Woodrow Wilson separated the two statesmen. Then Clemenceau offered Lloyd George satisfaction either with swords or pistols--as soon as Lloyd George had resided in France lout; enough to acquire a domicile there."

The U. S. correspondents hastened to Lloyd George. Said lie: "A stupid invention."

They hastened to M. Clemenceau, Said he: "I am surprised and astonished. ... I do not know how such a story ever got started."

Headlined The New York World: "Fee! Fi! Fo! Fum! List to the Numbing Tale of the Tiger and the Welshman as Spun by Wickham Steed. ... No One Else Ever Heard of It." While they awaited the book, U. S. newspaper readers reflected that, of all journalists at the Peace Conference, whilom Editor Steed was probably as near the inner machinery as any; that of all temperaments assembled at Versailles, those of Lloyd George and "Tiger" Clemenceau were perhaps the fieriest; that if such a quarrel had come to pass, it must certainly have been hushed up; that of all reputations, Mr. Steed's was a most excellent one for veracity; that, of all times, the present -- with Wilson dead, Lloyd George obscured, Clemenceau retired-- was as convenient as any for publishing the anecdote.

On the other hand, few men as brilliant and vivacious as Wickham Steed are not also imaginative.'