When the Third Liberty Loan, raised to finance America's war needs, closed on May 4, 1918, the subscriptions were well over $4,000,000,000, a billion in excess of the amount called for. The total was announced on May 17 as $4,170,019,650. Secretary McAdoo stated that he would allot bonds in full on all subscriptions.

The loan was regarded as the most successful ever floated by any nation, not so much because of the volume of sales, but because of the wide distribution of the loan. Approximately 17,000,000 individuals subscribed, that is, about one person in every six in the United States. The number of buyers in the Third Loan exceeded those in the Second by 7,000,000 and those in the First by 12,500,000.

The campaign throughout the country was conducted with all the thoroughness of a great political struggle, with the difference that there were no contending parties and all forces were marshaled to make the loan a success. Nor was the campaign merely a display of efficient organization and vigorous propaganda. It had many features of dramatic and picturesque interest, not only in the large cities, but in almost every smaller centre of the nation. A noonday rally of 50,000 men and women in Wall Street, New York, on the closing day, was typical. An eyewitness described it thus:

The Police Department Band appeared and the band of the 15th Coast Artillery from Fort Hamilton. Taking advantage of the occasion, James Montgomery Flagg now appeared in his studio van on the southern fringe of the Broad Street crowd. A girl with him played something on the cornet. It was a good deal like a show on the Midway at a Western county fair. But this was no faker—one of the most famous artists in America, throwing in a signed sketch of whoever bought Liberty bonds. Those near him began pushing and crowding to take advantage of the offer.

And now, suddenly, a tremendous racket up the street toward Broadway. Who comes?

Cheer on cheer, now. It is the "Anzacs." Twelve long, rangy fellows, officers all, six or seven of them with the little brass "A" on the shoulder, which signifies service at Gallipoli and in Flanders. They are members of the contingent of 500 which arrived here yesterday on its way to the battlefields of France. They run lightly up the Sub-Treasury steps and take their stand in a group beside the soldier band.

And now they all come—all the actors in the drama of the day. Governor Whitman, bareheaded, solemn-faced; Rabbi Stephen Wise, with his rugged face and his shock of blue-black hair; Mme. Schumann-Heink, panting a little with excitement; Auguste Bouilliz, baritone of the Royal Opera of Brussels, who later is to thrill them all with his singing of the "Marseillaise"; Cecil Arden, in a shining helmet and draped in the Union Jack, come to sing "God Save the King," while the sunburned Australian officers stand like statues at salute; Oscar Straus, and then—

"Yee-ee-ee-eee."

Oh, how they cheered! For the "Blue Devils" of France had poured out of the door of the Sub-Treasury and, with the fitful sun shining once more and gleaming on their bayonets, were running down the steps in two lines, past the "Anzacs," past the soldier band, to draw up in ranks at the bottom.

Lieutenant de Moal speaks. What does he say? Who knows? But he is widely cheered, just the same, as he gives way to Governor Whitman.

"There are gatherings like this, though not so large, all over our land today," cries the Governor. "In every town and city we Americans are gathered together at this moment to demonstrate that we are behind our army, behind our navy, behind our President."

The cheers that acclaimed his mention of the President drowned his voice for several moments.

"Here are the Australians," he cries, pointing to the "Anzac" officers. "They have brought us a message, but we are going to give them a message, too."

As the Governor stepped back to cheers that rocked the street, Lieutenant de Moal barked a sharp order, and the "Blue Devils" shouldered their guns with fixed bayonets, the six trumpeters ta-ra-ta-raed, and the soldiers of France moved off up the sidewalk lane to the side door of the Stock Exchange, where all business was suspended during the fifteen minutes of their visit on the floor.

Four of the "Anzacs" meanwhile were taken from their ranks on the steps of the building up to the pedestal of the statue of Washington, which was used as speaker's platform, and Captain Frank McCallam made a brief address.

"We haven't many men left," he said simply. "And it is up to you people to help us out to the best of your ability."

More cheers, and then Cecil Arden sang "God Save the King." The American regular fired a blank volley over the heads of the crowd, and the kids scrambled for the empty shells.

Following Wise and Straus, Bouilliz, the Belgian baritone, sang the "Marseillaise," and then, after the soldier band had played "Where Do We Go from Here, Boys?" Mme. Schumann-Heink advanced and sang the national anthem, following it up with an appeal that was the climax to the play.

Less exciting but more impressive was the parade on April 26, when thousands of mothers who had sent their sons to the front marched in a column of 35,000 men and women in the Liberty Day parade in New York City. This day had been proclaimed as such by President Wilson for "the people of the United States to assemble in their respective communities and liberally pledge anew their financial support to sustain the nation's cause, and to hold patriotic demonstrations in every city, town, and hamlet throughout the land."

The challenge of the mothers was inscribed on one of the banners they carried: "We give our sons—they give their lives—what do you give?"

Remarkable as was the appearance of these mothers with the little service flags over their shoulders, many of them so old that they marched with difficulty, the spectators who flanked the line of march along Fifth Avenue from Washington Square to Fifty-ninth Street found it even more thrilling to note that so very many of them, whether they were mothers or young wives, or just young girls proud of the brothers that had gone forth to service—so very many of them carried service flags with three and four and five and even six stars, and occasionally a glint of the sun would even carry the eye to a gold star, which meant, whenever it appeared, a veil of mourning for a wooden cross somewhere in France.

Among the minor but ingenious forms of publicity was the Liberty Loan ball which was rolled from Buffalo to New York, a distance of 470 miles, and which ended its journey of three weeks on May 4 at the City Hall. The ball was a large steel shell covered with canvas.

Every community that reached or exceeded its quota to the loan was entitled to raise a flag of honor specially designed for the purpose. At least 32,000 communities gained the honor and raised the flag.

To strengthen the financial basis of the nation's war industries and use monetary resources to the best advantage the War Finance Corporation bill was passed by Congress and approved by President Wilson on April 5, 1918. The two main purposes of the act are to provide credits for industries and enterprises necessary or contributory to the prosecution of the war and to supervise new issues of capital. The act creates the War Finance Corporation, consisting of the Secretary and four additional persons, with $500,000,000 capital stock, all subscribed by the United States. Banks and trust companies financing war industries or enterprises may receive advances from the corporation.