Evening star., 1923-09-02

man he was (and some were disap-
pointed; they wanted to know if he
could speak as he wrote (and pres
emily they knew he didn'D; they
wanted to pay back by hospitality, by
booking seats for the theaters, by
friendly words afterward. for some
of the things he had written at a
time when they had wanted to know.
One of the first little thrills 1 had
was when / stood at the desk of a
hotel, ten minutes after getting away
from the dockside, where scores of
kilograms were waiting for me, in
viting me to speak at all sorts of
places with strange and alarming
names. and having picked up the re-
ceiver in answer to the urgent calls.
heard the voice of a telephone girl
saying, Welcome to our city, Philip
Gibbs! and here's another
call for you" I have always remer1-
bered that little human message from
the girl at the switchboard.
I was still journalist, though
about to become a lecturer, and the
New York Times desired me to write
a series of articles recording-rapid-
ly.-my first impressions of New
York. 1t still seems to me a miracle
that I was able to do so, for I was
caught up by the social life of New
York like straw in whirlpool,
and my head was dazed by the i'm
mensity of the city, by it's noise. it's
light, its rush of traffic, its over
heated rooms, its newspaper report
ers. it's camera men, and, when /
staggered to my bedroom for a mo-
ment's respite, by the incessant tin
kle of the telephone, which rang me
up from scores Of addresses in New
York city, from Boston, Philadelphia,
Chicago, the Lord knows where.
wrote those articles blindly. sub
consciously. like a man in a night
mare, and they came out rather like
that, with sort of wild impression
ism of confused scenes, which seemed
to please the American people.
They were vastly amused, 7 was
told. by one phrase which came from
my nerve ganglia all quivering with
the first walk through Broadway at
night. / confessed that I felt like a
trench cootie under the fire Of 10000
guns" Now a cootie is a louise, as
had lately learned, and that simile
ticlxled my readers to death, g some
of them said, though it expressed in
utter truthfuIness the terror of my
sensation as traffic dodger down the
great white way.
But that terror was easily sur
passed when I faced for the first
time an audience in Carnegie Hail.
As 1 drove up with my brother and
saw hundreds of motor cars setting
down people in evening dress who
had come to have look at me (and
paid good money for it,, with the odd
chance of hearing something worth
while-poor dears,-I was cold with
fright. My fear increased until I was
stiff with it when, having shaken
hands with my brother and received
his hearty pat on the shoulder, like
a man about to go over the top. with
the odds against him, went through
little door and found myself on a
large stage, facing a great audience.
I was conscious of nnumerable faces,
white shirt fronts, and eyes, eyes,
eyes, staring at me from the great
arena of stalls and from all the gall
Ieries up to the roof. AS I made my
bow my tongue clave, literally, to the
roof of my mouth, my knees weak
ened, and I felt Gas some one after
ward told me I looked) as cheap as
2 cents.
X X xx
WHAT frightened me excessively
a
tidal wave among all those people.
They stood up, and I became aware
that they were paying me a very
great honor, but the physical effect
of that movement was, for g. moment,
as though they were all advancing on
me, possibly with intent to kill!
Ny chairman was my good and
great comrade, Frederick Palmer, the
American war correspondent. 1 am
told he made a fine Introductory
speech, but I did not hear a word of
| it. and was only wondering with
sinking heart whether I should get
through my first few sentences be-
fore I broke down utterly. 1t was
fearful thought, to make a public
fool of myself like that!
I had one thing in my favor-a
strong, far-reaching voice, and / had
been told to pitch 1t to the center OF
the top gallery, I know they heard.
A young foreigner I knew-not an
iAmerican.-a most friendly and candid
soul, told me that he had heard every
word, and wished. he hadn't. At
tracted by the title of a book of mine,
'The Soul of the War;" he had bought
four tickets for himself and friends,
believing that at last he would hear
| the inner meaning Of the war and its