Mussolini's Man

For what may be his last time President Hoover last week went through the familiar ritual of receiving a foreign ambassador extraordinary and plenipotentiary. Into the White House Blue Room where he stood stiffly waiting there marched promptly at 2:15 p. m. the State Department's Warren Delano Robbins and a dark-skinned, bright-eyed little man in a gold-embroidered green uniform. He was Augusto Rosso, Italy's new Ambassador to the U. S.

All three bowed. Declaimed Signer Rosso: "Both our countries are at present highly interested in helping to solve two outstanding international problems: disarmament and the world economic and financial reconstruction. We are fully aware of ... difficulties . . . but we firmly believe that ... it will be possible to solve them in a satisfactory manner."

Then it was President Hoover's turn to read a little speech prepared for him at the State Department: "The world is at present confronted with problems of great moment and difficulty. It should be, and is, the common purpose of all nations to solve those problems. ... It will be a pleasure to continue happy relations . . . through you with your government."

No stranger to the U.S. is Ambassador

Rosso. Arriving in Manhattan last fortnight, he began a voluble interview with: "I consider myself an old American. . . ." His diplomatic service in Washington dates back to 1910. After the War, in which he served as a cavalry officer, he returned as counselor of embassy. In 1925 he went home but popped over again in 1931 with Foreign Minister Dino

Grandi. Close to II Duce, he represented his government more recently at Geneva.

Unmarried, young-looking for his 48 years, Augusto Rosso is called in Italy "the American Uncle," not because he likes the U. S. (which he does) but because he is rich. He smokes potent Tuscano cigars, rides horseback with furious abandon. Quick, dynamic, agreeable, he is expected quickly to become a potent force in the diplomatic corps at the Capital.

Last week's ceremony over, Ambassador Rosso hurried back to his luxurious 16th Street Embassy with its enclosed garden, fountain, cloister. There he got a warm greeting from his red & white cocker spaniel Tobias. Said he, explaining the dog's name: "When he was a puppy, Tobias--like all cocker spaniels--leaped and played about me a great deal. One day I said to the frisky little dog, 'You would try the patience of Tobias.' I was thinking of Job --but the name stuck."

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