all but spare you, a month or so over
three whole years.

You may think it incredible, but it is merely true, that I had been in
Europe for more than three years--and I had not as yet seen Susan. Phil
had seen her, just once; Jimmy had seen her many times; and I had run
into them--singly, never together--off and on, here and there, during
those slow-swift days of unremitting labor. If to labor desperately in a
heartfelt cause be really to pray, the ear of Heaven has been besieged!
But, in common humanity, there was always more crying to be done than
mortal brains or hands or accumulated wealth could compass. Once plunged
into that glorious losing struggle against the appalling hosts of
Misery, one could only fight grimly on--on--on--to the last hoarded
ounce of strength and determination.

But the odds were hopeless, fantastic! Those Titan forces of human
suffering and degradation, so half-wittedly let loose throughout Europe,
grew ever vaster, more terrible in maleficent power. They have ravaged
the world; they have ravaged the soul. An armistice has been signed, a
peace treaty is being drafted, a League of Nations is being formed--or
deformed--but those Titan forces still mock our poor efforts with
calamitous laughter. They are still in fiercely, stubbornly disputed,
but unquestionable possession of the field--insolent conquerors to this
hour. The real war, the essential war, the war against the unconsciously
self-willed annihilation of earth's tragic egoist, Man, has barely
begun. Its issue is ever uncertain; and it will not be ended in our
days....

Phil and Jimmy had gone over on the same boat, _via_ England, about the
middle of October, 1914. At that time organized American relief-work in
Europe was really nonexistent, and in order to obtain some freedom of
movement on the other side, and a chance to study out possible
opportunities for effective service, Phil had persuaded Heywood Sampson
to appoint him continental correspondent for the new review; and Jimmy
went with him, ostensibly as his private secretary.

It was all the merest excuse for obtaining passports and permission to
enter Belgium, if that should prove immediately advisable after reaching
London. It did not. Once in London, Phil had very soon found himself up
to the eyes in work. Through Mr. Page, the American Ambassador--so
lately dead--he was introduced to Mr. Herbert C. Hoover, and after a
scant twenty minutes of conversation was seized by Mr