alled in to work with a special
committee and find a compromise. Not a regular member of the Council of
Ten, he was nevertheless at Clemenceau's elbow, and especially after the
attempt on the latter's life, he labored day and night on the details
which were too much for the strength and time of the older man.

On Clemenceau's right, and half facing him, sat the two American
delegates, Wilson and Lansing. The President, to the surprise of many, was
by no means the awkward college professor lost among practical
politicians. His speech was slow and his manner might almost be called
ponderous, but the advisers who whispered over his shoulder, during the
course of the debate, attested the rapidity with which his mind operates
and his skill in catching the points suggested. There was far less of the
dogmatic doctrinaire in his attitude than had been looked for.
Occasionally his remarks bordered upon the sententious, but he never
"orated," invariably using a conversational tone; many of his points were
driven home by humorous allusions or anecdotes rather than by didactic
logic. Like that of the other delegates his manner was informal. During
the cold days of late January he walked about the room during discussions
in order to keep his feet warm. Indeed the proceedings of the Council of
Ten were characterized by a noted absence of stiffness. It was evidently
expected that the prestige which Wilson possessed among the masses would
evaporate in this inner council; but nothing of the kind was apparent. It
was not uninteresting to note that when a point was raised every one
looked involuntarily to see how it would be taken by the President; and
when the delegates of the smaller Powers appeared before the Council they
addressed their remarks almost directly at him. Lansing spoke seldom, but
then with force and conviction, and was evidently more troubled than
Wilson by the compromises with expediency which the Americans were
compelled to make. His attention was never distracted by the sketches
which he drew without ceasing, during the course of the debates--grotesque
and humorous figures, much in demand by every one present as mementos of
the Conference.

Next on the right sat David Lloyd George, with thick gray hair and
snapping Celtic eyes. Alert and magnetic, he was on the edge of his
chair, questioning and interrupting. Frankly ignorant of the details of
continental geography and politics, naive in his inquiries, he possessed
t