hree go to Paris. He intends to offer himself and his car to the Red
Cross. His wife will nurse. So we are very happy at the solution, and
to-morrow we are off.

Paris.

Back again. Closed shutters, deserted streets. How glum everything is!
Those who are not mobilized seem uncertain how to turn. Every one buys
the papers and reads grimly of disaster. No news is bad news.

I go to my garret as to a beloved friend. Everything is just as I left
it, so that it seems I have never been away. I sigh with relief and
joy. I will take up my work again. Serene above the storm I will watch
and wait. Although I have been brought up in England I am American born.
My country is not concerned.

So, going to the Dome Cafe, I seek some of my comrades. Strange! They
have gone. MacBean, I am told, is in England. By dyeing his hair and
lying about his age he has managed to enlist in the Seaforth
Highlanders. Saxon Dane too. He has joined the Foreign Legion, and
even now may be fighting.

Well, let them go. I will keep out of the mess. But why did they go? I
wish I knew. War is murder. Criminal folly. Against Humanity.
Imperialism is at the root of it. We are fools and dupes. Yes, I will
think and write of other things. . . .

_MacBean has enlisted_.

I hate violence. I would not willingly cause pain to anything
breathing. I would rather be killed than kill. I will stand above the
Battle and watch it from afar.

_Dane is in the Foreign Legion_.

How disturbing it all is! One cannot settle down to anything. Every day
I meet men who tell the most wonderful stories in the most casual way.
I envy them. I too want to have experiences, to live where life's beat
is most intense. But that's a poor reason for going to war.

And yet, though I shrink from the idea of fighting, I might in some way
help those who are. MacBean and Dane, for example. Sitting lonely in
the Dome, I seem to see their ghosts in the corner. MacBean listening
with his keen, sarcastic smile, Saxon Dane banging his great hairy fist
on the table till the glasses jump. Where are they now? Living a life
that I will never know. When they come back, if they ever do, shall I
not feel shamed in their presence? Oh, this filthy war! Things were
going on so beautifully. We were all so happy, so full of ambition, of
hope; laughing and talking over pipe and bowl, and in our garrets
seeking to realize our dreams. Ah, these days will never come agai