ggested, modestly.

"I, too," he laughed, "but today--ausgeschlossen, ('nothing doing,' in
Americanese.) Still--that may be yet."

"May I come along, your Excellency?"

"Certainly, then you can see for yourself what sort of 'barbarians' we
Germans are."

"Dropping in on Hindenburg" yields some unimportant but interesting
by-products. The railroad Napoleon, as all the world knows, lives and
works in a palace, but this palace doesn't overawe one who has beaten
professionally at the closed portals of Fifth Avenue. It would be
considered a modest country residence in Westchester County or on Long
Island. Light in color and four stories high, including garret, it looks
very much like those memorials which soap kings and sundry millionaires
put up to themselves in their lifetime--the American college dormitory,
the modern kind that is built around three sides of a small court. The
palace is as simple as the man.

The main entrance, a big iron gateway, is flanked by two guardhouses
painted with white and black stripes, the Prussian "colors," and two
unbluffable Landsturm men mount guard, who will tell you to go around to
the back door.

The orderly who opens the front door is a Sergeant in field gray
uniform. You mount a flight of marble steps, and saunter down a marble
hall, half a block long. It is the reception hall. It is furnished with
magnificent hand-carved, high-backed chairs without upholstery, lounging
not being apparently encouraged here. They are Gothic structures backed
up against the walls. There is no Brussels or Axminster carpet on the
cold marble floor--not even Turkish rugs. Through this palace hall, up
by the ceiling, runs a thick cable containing the all-important
telephone wires. The offices open off the hall, the doors labeled with
neatly printed signs telling who and what is within. If you should come
walking down the street outside at 3 A.M. you would probably see the
lights in Hindenburg's office still burning, as I did. At 3:30 they went
out, indicating that a Field Marshal's job is not a sinecure.

Feeling of the German People

Complete Confidence in Victory and Resentment Toward England

[By a Staff Correspondent of THE NEW YORK TIMES.]

BERLIN, Feb. 12.--To the neutral American, intent only on finding out
the truth, the most thought-provoking feature here (overlooked by
foreign correspondents because of its very featureless obviousness) is
the fact that Germany today is more con