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Six hundred miles out from New York James Ramsay MacDonald paced up and down the glass shielded promenade deck of the Berengaria in golf cap and canvas shoes. Breathless, from the wireless room came an excited newsman. "Mr. MacDonald—Stresemann's dead!" "Stresemann? Oh I say, that's too bad." In the smoking room Prime Minister MacDonald pulled at his ear for a moment, then dictated a formal statement: "When I saw him last a few weeks ago I think both of us felt the 'goodbye' might be our farewell. Yet he was content and...
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