told by a man in a grocer's cart that the Huns had come again.
But the invader on this occasion turned out to be a British aviator from
one of the camps who was bringing a message to London. The warmth of his
reception was all that could be desired, and he alighted hastily in the
first open space that presented itself.

Looking back to the time when I left America, I can recall the
expectation of finding a Britain beginning to show signs of distress.
I was prepared to live on a small ration. And the impression of the
scarcity of food was seemingly confirmed when the table was being set
for the first meal at my hotel; when the waiter, who chanced to be an
old friend, pointed to a little bowl half-full of sugar and exclaimed:
"I ought to warn you, sir, it's all you're to have for a week, and
I'm sorry to say you're only allowed a bit of bread, too." It is human
perversity to want a great deal of bread when bread becomes scarce; even
war bread, which, by the way, is better than white. But the rest of the
luncheon, when it came, proved that John Bull was under no necessity
of stinting himself. Save for wheat and sugar; he is not in want.
Everywhere in London you are confronted by signs of an incomprehensible
prosperity; everywhere, indeed, in Great Britain. There can be no doubt
about that of the wage-earners--nothing like it has ever been seen
before. One sure sign of this is the phenomenal sale of pianos to
households whose occupants had never dreamed of such luxuries. And not
once, but many times, have I read in the newspapers of workingmen's
families of four or five which are gaining collectively more than five
hundred pounds a year. The economic and social significance of this
tendency, the new attitude of the working classes, the ferment it is
causing need not be dwelt upon here. That England will be a changed
England is unquestionable.

The London theatres are full, the "movies" crowded, and you have to wait
your turn for a seat at a restaurant. Bond Street and Piccadilly
are doing a thriving business--never so thriving, you are told, and
presently you are willing to believe it. The vendor beggars, so familiar
a sight a few years ago, have all but disappeared, and you may walk from
Waterloo Station to the Haymarket without so much as meeting a needy
soul anxious to carry your bag. Taxicabs are in great demand. And one
odd result of the scarcity of what the English are pleased to call
"petrol," by which they mean gas