simple that no one else had thought of it. Mr. Hughes' mind works
like that;--hard, cold, unemotional, not to be turned aside, it
simplifies everything, whether it be a treaty fight that has
confused everyone else in the land, or a rambling Cabinet
discussion; whether it be the mess in which the war left Europe, or
the chaos in which watchful waiting left Mexico. His is a mind that
delights in formulae. He has one for Europe. He has one for Mexico.
It is an analytical, not a synthetical mind, a lawyer's mind, not a
creator's, like Wilson's, with, perhaps it may turn out, a fatal
habit of over-simplification. Life is not a simple thing after
all.

But effective simplification is instantly overwhelming; and he made
his brief announcement, a few days after taking office, that the
United States had won certain things as a belligerent, that it had
not got them, that he was going after them, that other countries
could expect nothing from us until they had recognized our rights
and our interests; he had completely routed the Senate, which had
been opposing Wilson's ideals with certain ideals of its own,
pitting Washington's farewell address against "breaking the heart
of the world," in a mussy statement of sentimentality.

Mr. Hughes talked of islands and oil and dollars; and the country
came to its senses. Mr. Wilson had pictured us going into world
affairs as an international benefactor; it was sobby and suggested
a strain on our pocketbooks. The Senate had pictured us staying out
of them because our fathers had warned us to stay out and because
the international confidence men would cheat us; it was Sunday-
school-booky and unflattering. Mr. Hughes said we should go in to
the extent of obtaining what was ours, and that we should stay out