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The King tried to raise his hand to the salute, but had not the strength. He had been badly strained, suffered acute pain, and that night was in a high fever. On the following day I saw him taken away in an ambulance, like an ordinary casualty, and no soldiers in the little old town of Béthune knew that it was the King of England who was passing by.
Before the end of his second visit, the King received the five war correspondents who had followed the fortunes of the British Armies in France through all their great battles, and he spoke kind words to us which we were glad to hear.
IV
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In spite of my long and fairly successful career as a journalist, I have rarely achieved what is known as a “scoop,” that is to say, an exclusive story of sensational interest. On the whole, I don’t much believe in the editor or reporter who sets his soul on “scoops,” because they create an unhealthy rivalry for sensation at any price—even that of truth—and the “faker” generally triumphs over the truthteller, until both he and the editor who encouraged him come a cropper by being found out.