April — undated, 1919

Our closet philosopher who dreamed a beautiful dream and became President is now at grips with stern realities. They listened to him while the world floundered in the welter of war and the New Jerusalem he pictured as our goal seemed most inviting, but today with the danger passed, or so at least many think, the old selfish desires reassert themselves and apparently with redoubled force.

Further, many are convinced that they understand the international situation and the needs of their people better, much better, than the amateur from across the seas.

While others are not far behind, the Italians with their sacro egoismo are the worst sinners against the New Course; they are not the only ones, but clearly they are the most shameless. They crawl before the President for another loan “to set the world going again” and yet are ever busy to torpedo his plan to make the world a decent place for civilized folk to live in. They are hysterical in their demand for Fiume, although the only promise it gives them is the certainty of war with the Yugoslavs, sooner or later.

The President had a long and anxious talk with the Colonel today. He looks wretched. The illness which laid him low for days after his return from America was evidently more serious than Grayson will admit. To me he looks like a man due for a complete breakdown unless he is relieved of his burden of responsibility. No one dares to tell him this, least of all Grayson whose role with so many presidents has been to tell them only what they wanted to hear.