“I thought we would discuss that after you’ve taken your leave, Sam,” Rumely said.

McClure had already announced that his attendance at our little gathering would be abbreviated, as he was meeting with his wife and a group of theater-goers to attend D.W. Griffith’s new moving picture, Birth of a Nation, at the Liberty Cinema on Forty-second Street. It was said the show elevated that nickelodeon novelty to the level of art-which I sincerely doubted, though I did relish the thought of the theater’s new cooling system, as stifling summer months lay ahead.

“Just so we understand each other,” McClure said, his hard gaze travelling from Rumely to me. “I suppose you know that I consider myself a Progressive.”

“I do,” I said, and I did-from backing Teddy Roosevelt to extolling the virtues of health foods, McClure was if anything a freethinker.

“So is my friend Edward here,” McClure went on, and placed a hand on the bulldog’s shoulder. “We share many interests. . We met when my son was attending the Montessori school Edward ran for a time in LaPorte, Indiana. . Edward agrees with my current campaign, for example, to form an international organization that would guarantee peace among all nations, world round.”*

“How interesting,” I said, not really caring. Politics were anathema to me.

“You see, my sympathies in the current struggle are with Great Britain. . and Edward’s are with Germany. As reasonable men who can agree to disagree, we have struck a bargain-the News will air both points of view, but ban the propaganda of both.”

“I wish more newspapers would take a neutral position on the war,” I said. “I’m appalled by these crude British-slanted atrocity stories-Belgium children mutilated, women raped, shopkeepers murdered. . tasteless rabble-rousing trash.”

“I agree wholeheartedly,” McClure said. “But I will not tolerate a pro-German point of view, either. . is that understood, sir?”