nd always, in characteristic gestures, a tugging
at the tie, the smoothing-down of the hair with the flat of the hand,
the furious digging of fists into pockets, a clutching at coat lapels,
and a touch of hesitance before he speaks.

He comes at you with a sort of impulsive friendliness, his body hitched
a little sideways by the nervous drag of a leg. His grip is a good
one; he meets your eyes squarely in a long glance to which the darkness
about his eyes adds intensity, as though he is getting your features
into his memory for all time, in the resolve to keep you as a friend.

He speaks well, with an attractive manner and a clear enunciation that
not even acute nervousness can slur or disorganize. He is, in fact, an
excellent public speaker, never missing the value of a sentence, and
managing his voice so well that even in the open air people are able to
follow what he says at a distance that renders other speakers inaudible.

In private he is as clear, but more impulsive. He makes little darting
interjections which seem part of a similar movement of hands, or the
whole of the body, and he speaks with eagerness, as though he found
most things jolly and worth while, and expects you do too. Obviously
he finds zest in ordinary human things, and not a little humour, also,
for there is more often than not a twinkle in his eyes that gives
character to his friendly smile--that extraordinarily ready smile,
which comes so spontaneously and delightfully, and which became a
byword over the whole continent of the West.

It is this friendly and unstudied manner that wins him so much
affection. It makes all feel immediately that he is extraordinarily
human and extraordinarily responsive, and that there are no barriers or
reticences in intercourse with him.

He is not an intellectual, and he certainly is not a dullard. He
rather fills the average of the youth of modern times, with an extreme
fondness for modern activities, which include golfing, running and
walking; jazz music and jazz dancing (when the prettiness of partners
is by no means a deterrent), sightseeing and the rest, and my own
impression is, that he is much more at home in the midst of a hearty
crowd--the more democratic the better--than in the most august of
formal gatherings.

The latter, too, means speech-making, and he has, I fancy, a young
man's loathing of making speeches. He makes them--on certain occasions
he had to make them three times and more a