ake the necessary preparations for my journey. I was
absurdly, boyishly happy. No doubt as to my success crossed my mind.
It was to be my final and triumphant adventure. Unless the High Powers
stove a hole in the steamer or sent another railway train to collide
with mine, the non-attainment of my object seemed impossible. I had but
to go, to be seen, to conquer.

I arrived safely in Berlin at half-past seven in the evening, and drove
to a modest hotel in the Kaiserstrasse, where I had engaged a room. My
first inquiry was for a letter from Lola. To my disappointment nothing
awaited me. I had telegraphed to her at the Winter Garten the day
before, and I had written as well. A horrible surmise began to dance
before me. Suppose Messrs. Conto and Blag had given Dale erroneous
information! I grew sick and faint at the thought. What laughter there
would be in Olympus over my fool journey! In great agitation I clamoured
for a programme of the Winter Garten entertainment. The hotel clerk put
it into my trembling hands. There was no mention of Madame Lola Brandt,
but to my unspeakable comfort I saw the announcement:

"Professorin Anastasius Papadopoulos und ihre wunderbaren Katzen."

Lola was working the cats under the little man's name. That was why
she had baffled the inquiries instituted by Dale and myself and had not
received my telegram. I scribbled a hasty note in which I told her of
my arrival, my love, and my impatience; that I proposed to witness the
performance that evening, and to meet her immediately afterwards at the
stage-door. This, addressed to the Professorin Anastasius Papadopoulos,
I despatched by special messenger to the Winter Garten. After a hasty
toilet and a more hurried meal, I went out, and, too impatient to walk,
I hailed a droschky, and drove through the wide, cheery streets of
Berlin. It was a balmy June evening. The pavements were thronged.
Through the vast open fronts of the cafes one saw agglutinated masses
of people just cleft here and there by white-jacketed waiters darting
to and fro with high-poised trays of beer and coffee. Save these and the
folks in theatres all Berlin was in the streets, taking the air. A sense
of gaiety pervaded the place, organised and recognised, as though it
were as much part of a Berliner's duty to himself, the Fatherland, and
the Almighty to be gay when the labours of the day are over as to be
serious during business hours. He goes through it with a grave face an