platform was Ivery, and beside him sat a figure that thrilled every
inch of me with affection and a wild anticipation. 'I have now the
privilege,' said the chairman, 'of introducing to you the speaker
whom we so warmly welcome, our fearless and indefatigable American
friend, Mr Blenkiron.'

It was the old Blenkiron, but almightily changed. His stoutness
had gone, and he was as lean as Abraham Lincoln. Instead of a
puffy face, his cheek-bones and jaw stood out hard and sharp, and
in place of his former pasty colour his complexion had the clear
glow of health. I saw now that he was a splendid figure of a man,
and when he got to his feet every movement had the suppleness of
an athlete in training. In that moment I realized that my serious
business had now begun. My senses suddenly seemed quicker, my
nerves tenser, my brain more active. The big game had started, and
he and I were playing it together.

I watched him with strained attention. It was a funny speech,
stuffed with extravagance and vehemence, not very well argued and
terribly discursive. His main point was that Germany was now in a
fine democratic mood and might well be admitted into a brotherly
partnership - that indeed she had never been in any other mood,
but had been forced into violence by the plots of her enemies.
Much of it, I should have thought, was in stark defiance of the
Defence of the Realm Acts, but if any wise Scotland Yard officer
had listened to it he would probably have considered it harmless
because of its contradictions. It was full of a fierce earnestness, and
it was full of humour - long-drawn American metaphors at which
that most critical audience roared with laughter. But it was not the
kind of thing that they were accustomed to, and I could fancy what