Pith-helmeted Britishers, suckled on the strong wine of an imperial tradition, reared to carry a white man's burden without stooping, made rendezvous at their Hongkong clubs, waited the word of command. A cruiser, a team of gunboats, coaled up in the harbor.
But no word came from Downing Street. Foreign Minister Austen Chamberlain—son of Imperialist Joe*— was as dumb as the lions in Trafalgar Square.
The Chinese boycott of British shipping had already become surprisingly effective. The impertinence of it was not to be endured. Leaders of the pith-helmeted colony took counsel, called a proper...
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