th him that a
wish from the Senator was in reality a command, and should be obeyed
promptly.

John, although he liked Dresden, had but one regret. He could not go up
in the Zeppelin dirigible and he hastened to tell Herr Simmering that
his entry was withdrawn.

"I'll have to cut out the dirigible," he said in his colloquial tongue.
"Perhaps you can find somebody to take my place."

"Perhaps," said the landlord, "and on the other hand it may be that the
dirigible will not go up for me.

"Why? I thought you had chartered it for a second trip."

Herr Simmering compressed his lips. John saw that, under impulse, he had
said more than he intended. It was an objection of his to Germany--this
constant secrecy and mystery that seemed to him not only useless but
against the natural flow of human nature.

"Are all the Zeppelins confiscated by the government?" he asked,
speaking wholly at random.

Herr Simmering started. Fat and smooth, he shot a single, menacing
glance at the young American. But, in a moment, he was smiling again and
John had not noticed.

"Our government never tells its plans," he said. "Mr. Anson says that
you leave tomorrow for Prague."

"Yes," said John curiously, "and I can almost infer from your tone, Herr
Simmering, that you will be glad to see us go."

But Herr Simmering protested earnestly that he never liked to lose
paying guests, above all those delightful Americans, who had so much
appreciation and who made so little trouble. The German soul and the
American soul were akin.

"Well, we do like your country and your people," said John. "That's the
reason we come here so much."

In the evening, while Mr. Anson was absorbed in the latest English
newspapers which had just come in, John went out for a walk. His
favorite method of seeing a European city was to stroll the streets, and
using his own phrase to "soak" it in.

He passed now down the street which led by the very edge of the Elbe,
and watched the long freight boats go by, lowering their smokestacks as
they went under the bridges. The night was cloudy, and the city behind
him became dusky in the mists and darkness. Dresden was strangely quiet,
too, but he soon forgot it, as he moved back into the past.

The past, not the details, but the dim forgotten life, always made a
powerful appeal to John. He had read that Dresden began with a little
fishing village, and now he was trying to imagine the tawny men of a
thousand years ago, in t