an electric current. He was at once angry
and indignant, but, resolving to throw it off, he shrugged his shoulders
a little, and turned to his older friend who was supposed to be comrade
and teacher at the same time.

Mr. Anson, the didactic strain, strong in him, recovered his importance,
and began to talk again. He did not confine himself any longer to the
Sistine Madonna, but talked of other pictures in the famous gallery, the
wonderful art of Rubens and Jordaens, although it seemed to John's
normal mind that they had devoted themselves chiefly to studies in fat.
But the longest lecture must come to an end, and as the inevitable crowd
gathered before the Madonna William Anson was forced by courtesy into
silence. The Prussian had already gone, still wearing his defiant
helmet, his sword swinging stiffly from his belt, his heavy boots
clanking on the floor.

"Did you notice that officer?" asked John.

"I gave him a casual glance. He is not different from the others. You
see them everywhere in Germany."

"He seemed typical to me. I don't recall another man who has impressed
me so much. To me he personified the great German military organization
which we are all so sure is invincible."

"And it _is_ invincible. Nothing like the German army has ever before
stood on this planet. A great race, strong in both body and mind, has
devoted itself for half a century to learning everything that is to be
learned about war. It's a magnificent machine, smooth, powerful,
tremendous, unconquerable, and for that very reason neither you nor I,
John, will ever see a war of the first magnitude in Europe. It would be
too destructive. The nations would shrink back, appalled. Besides, the
tide is the other way. Remember all those ministers who came over with
us on the boat to attend the peace conference at Constance."

John accepted readily all that Mr. Anson said, and the significance of
the Prussian, due he was sure to his own imagination, passed quickly
from his mind. But he was tired of pictures. He had found that he could
assimilate only a certain quantity, and after that all the rest, even be
they Raphael, Murillo and Rubens, became a mere blur.

"Let's go out and walk on the terraces over the river," he said.

"But many other famous pictures are here. We can't afford to go back to
America, and admit that we haven't seen some of the masterpieces of the
Dresden gallery."

John laughed.

"No, we can't," he said, "because if we