THE MAN WITHOUT
"He [ Wilson] is certainly in splendid humor and in good trim -- not worried a bit. And why should he be, for the world is at his feet, eating out of his hand! No Caesar ever had such a triumph!"
SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR LANE, November 5, 1918.
THE NEWS of the Armistice caused war-taut America to relapse into a delirium of rejoicing. Streets everywhere were crowded with laughing, weeping, whooping, whistling, tooting, singing, kissing, drinking, dancing, milling masses. The canyons of New York City were filled with flags, confetti, torn paper. The police were powerless to control the crowds bent on window breaking, bonfire building, streetcar wrecking.
Gloating over the downfall of the Kaiser was everywhere unrestrained. He was lampooned in effigy, burned in effigy, tossed from skyscrapers in effigy, trampled underfoot in effigy. One placard announced triumphantly: "There ain't no Kaiser." Another proclaimed: "Let him rule in hell." One imaginative butcher drove about a truck on which he exhibited a stuck pig labeled: "Kaiser."
The Atlanta Constitution passed solemn judgment: "And somewhere in Holland an old, old man, the greatest criminal the world has ever known, is shivering before the hosts of accusing shapes who point their ghostly fingers and brand him murderer."
But in Washington, Woodrow Wilson was not shivering. He was responding graciously to one of the greatest spontaneous ovations ever given him.
And why not? He was at the dizziest peak of his incredible career. He had led an unprepared, bewildered, and partially