Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, 1918-03-08
Continued From last Issue)

On Saturday morning, the 25th of
July, had just seated myself at my
! table and was yielding to all those
trifling temptations by which the in
| dolent will postpone the task of
composition, sharpening lead pencils,
| aligning them on the desk, arranging
notes and paper, looking out the
window at the summer day-and the
golf links so near-and at last hav-
ing exhausted all the possibilities of
| petty occupations which, by a trick
of the lazy mind might serve as eX-
cuses for procrastination, the morn
| ing papers were sent up. | would
glance over the report of the Call
laux case at any rate, though the full
reports were in the Paris papers
which Omer would bring out at
noon. I picked up TEtoile Beige,
and there was the ultimatum which
| the Austrian government sent to
Serbia on Thursday evening.
UItimatum Amazed Him
| There had been references to it in
matums were not so infrequent in
Balkan diplomacy and we had been
! too much absorbed in pleasanter
| l0lRnS. buL mere II WAS III lull. l.
read it through, marveling more and
more at the amazing brutality of it's
successive eXigencies, that ended on
the peremptory note of demand for
a reply within fOrty-eight hours.
The delay was even then almost up;
any one could see that it meant but
one thing, war, for surely no nation
could yield to such a summons! The
smOuldering fire in the Balkans
would break out again! Could the
| flames be confined to that area by
the diplomacy that twice before, in
recent years, had succeeded in doing
that, or would they spread and in
volve all Europe? The mind for
moment was aghast at the thought
and then-but no! Impossible, in
our day, humanity advanced as it
is, at an epoch where, as never be-
fore, the spirit of good will is work.
ing in men, producing social amelio-
ration everywhere! l read the dis
patches from the various capitals;
the thing could not be! Diplomacy
would find a way; there would be
discussions and pourparlers and ex-
change of notes. The Balkans were
far away from the field of American
thought and preoccupation, and far
away from snug little Belgium, safe
in it's neutrality, far away surely
from Bots Fleuri, tucked away there
among its roses and it's grove of
understanding pines, the wide fields
about almost audibly purring with
peace and contentment. War! On
such a summer morning! Let the
Balkans settle their rascally quar-
rels among themselves; what had
we to do with them?
l thrust aside IEtoile, hitched up
my chair to my desk and went to
work. l wrote until noon.
The Marquis of Villalobar. my
Spanish colleague, an old frieno
whom 1 knew in America, was COM
ing to luncheon that day, and when
he arrived the Austrian ultimatum
of course came up at once. I can
see him now as he stood there in
our small salon, Struggling his stout
Castillian shoulders at mention of it.
The word so often lightly spoken
came to our lips and suddenly as
sumed the sinister connotation it
should always bear, and, as it was
uttered now, it had a new dread
sound. War! We speculated, to no
purpose of course, and spoke of the
fortunate neutrality of Belgium.
AT any rate" the Marquis said,
as we were going out to luncheon,
I'VE have a comfortable lodge from
which to watch the performance"
It was a thought in which there
was comfort; we could hug it to our
selves in the inveterate and persist
ent selfishness of our deplorable
human nature, fling aside our pre-
occupation, and talk of the Caillaux
case, of French politics and of Wash
ington, or of the visit the Marquis
had once made us at Toledo, or of
the new English motor car he had
just purchased.
He was on his way to the Chateau
de Namur, to spend the weekend
with an aunt, and. shortly after
luncheon he drove away in the rain,
in his big green English car, behind
Griffin, his English chauffeur, who
seemed so integral part of it.
The next day Sunday we went
to Antwerp, Nell and l, to meet the
"Lapland' that was bringing our
mothers from America. The delay
liked in the Austrian ulL1maCum nau
expired, and yet there was no war,
the world was quite normal, that
dull Sunday of dismal rain-''la
drache nationale"-as the Belgians
call it. There would be no war.
Dawdling about the Hotel st. An
tome at Antwerp, / asked the old
Swiss porter-one asks porters
everything-and he said there would
be no war; he said it was impossi-
BILE. OF course.
We had to stop over at Antwerp
for the night; there was something
the matter with the tides, the Lap
land would not dock before Monday,
and it was indeed late on Monday
afternoon before the great bulk of