reception was all that could be desired, and he alighted hastily in the
first open space that presented itself.

Looking back to the time when I left America, I can recall the
expectation of finding a Britain beginning to show signs of distress.
I was prepared to live on a small ration. And the impression of the
scarcity of food was seemingly confirmed when the table was being set
for the first meal at my hotel; when the waiter, who chanced to be an
old friend, pointed to a little bowl half-full of sugar and exclaimed:
"I ought to warn you, sir, it's all you're to have for a week, and I'm
sorry to say you're only allowed a bit of bread, too." It is human
perversity to want a great deal of bread when bread becomes scarce; even
war bread, which, by the way, is better than white. But the rest of the
luncheon, when it came, proved that John Bull was under no necessity of
stinting himself. Save for wheat and sugar; he is not in want.
Everywhere in London you are confronted by signs of an incomprehensible
prosperity; everywhere, indeed, in Great Britain. There can be no doubt
about that of the wage-earners--nothing like it has ever been seen
before. One sure sign of this is the phenomenal sale of pianos to
households whose occupants had never dreamed of such luxuries. And
not once, but many times, have I read in the newspapers of workingmen's
families of four or five which are gaining collectively more than five
hundred pounds a year. The economic and social significance of this
tendency, the new attitude of the working classes, the ferment it is
causing need not be dwelt upon here. That England will be a changed
England is unquestionable.

The London theatres are full, the "movies" crowded, and you have to wait
your turn for a seat at a restaurant. Bond Street and Piccadilly are
doing a thriving business--never so thriving, you are told, and presently