"Below the Belt!"

Diplomacy--as so many diplomats so often assert--is a profession. Last week, like a clan of impeccable Harley Street physicians shuddering over the success of some popular "bone setter," the established diplomatic practitioners of London winced anew at Charles Gates Dawes. Publicly, with hearty fist-bangs upon a London banquet table, the U. S. Ambassador had just rasped and barked:

"I am not a diplomatist! ... As I know my own business best, I am going to try and do it in my own way. . . . Nobody needs to explain to me how to get along with the English! I have met a lot of unsolicited advice about that, but I resent advice about how to get along with the English. ... I have got something to say! What we want is a pact of complete friendship and trust [between Britain and the U. S.]. That is what I am trying to bring about!"

Chipper as a grey squirrel among sleek black tabby cats, dynamic Guest-of-Honor Dawes had turned up at the luncheon--tendered by the Travel Association of Great Britain & Ireland--wearing a "tropic weave" grey business suit of hard, aggressive cut. Every other guest of consequence sweltered, of course, in correctest English morning clothes. The setting was hoar, historic Vintners' Hall, built just after the Great Fire of London in 1666, sombre, immemorial citadel of England's solemn wine trade. To talk loudly or to refuse a cup of wine in such a place would be to most Englishmen utterly impossible. Yet soon the 2,000,000 readers of London's Daily Mail learned that " 'Hell and Maria' Dawes roared* as if he were on parade ground. While his audience sat silent, mesmerized, and almost embarrassed ... he shattered the ancient and peaceful atmosphere of Vintners' Hall and kept Lord Derby and Lord Riddell (who sat on either side of him) dodging his crashing fists."

Quite as unusual from the British point of view was Guest Dawes's handling of the Vintners' massy, golden wassail cup. Brimming with stout English sack specially brewed of old sherry and spices the Vintners' Cup was supposed to be deeply quaffed in sociable succession, first by Toastmaster the sporting Earl of Derby, second by Ambassador Dawes, third by jovial Publisher-Peer Lord Riddell, finally by the company at large after suitable replenishments. But when Lord Derby had drunk ceremoniously and passed the cup, Teetotaler Dawes pursed his firm lips, brushed the Vintners' chalice against them for less than a second, then swiftly passed it on to Baron Riddell.

Besides his conduct and "pact of friendship," Guest Dawes gave the members of the Travel Association of Great Britain & Ireland "a few practical suggestions to ponder." "The ideal of your association" he explained, "is to bring people together in mutual friendship and mutual understanding. The methods of an organization like this should be adjusted not to human reasoning, but to human nature.* I have an invitation from the Mayor of Sudbury to go down there to receive the freedom of the town. Sudbury is where my people came from centuries ago. That invitation appealed to me; it touched something in my heart. I want to go to Sudbury where my people came from, and it occurs to me that what your society should do is to follow the line of that human call. If all the American descendants of all the Smiths, Joneses and Mac-Donalds came over they would all want to see where their beginnings were.

"You want to keep these two great peoples in touch, not to help them be friendly but to give them a chance to show how friendly they are."

When correspondents asked him, after the luncheon, what was in the Vintners' Cup, Ambassador Dawes snapped, "That's my business! That kind of question is hitting below the belt."

"Well, tell us your golf handicap," called a correspondent.

"As to your specific question," answered the Ambassador, more calmly, "I am frank to say that my handicap is 35. I play golf and I don't play it, if you understand what that means."

* Inaccurate. The Dawes voice, high, thin, nasal, is incapable of "roaring."

*The theme idea of the Dawes debut speech last month (TIME, July 1).