oked astonished, waved me ahead
with a doubtful expression, as much as to say, "On your own head be
it, young man."

That first night passed without trouble. At the border station we lined
up, immigrant fashion, and went through an inspection by a number
of the businesslike German militariat attached to the Zollamt, or
customs service. For ten minutes I stood in suspense while a
fiery-looking officer, with a snapping blue eye, looked through my
credentials in silence. He wrote my name in a notebook, looked
through my eye as if he would read my very soul, and then, without a
remark, passed me on. I filed through a narrow gate--and so into
the Realms of the Kaiser.

It was now eleven o'clock at night and the Berlin express came
through Bentheim at 7.45 the next morning. We stayed at a little inn,
somewhat resembling the Wayside Inn, at Sudbury, Massachusetts.
Here I fell in with a German manufacturer whom I had seen several
weeks before as we were bringing the good news from Ghent to Aix. I
was surprised at this man's change of opinion regarding the conflict.
On the first occasion he laughed outright at the idea of an extended
fight. Now, all through his arguments, he repeated such phrases as,
"Well, if Germany doesn't win," or, "Suppose the war does last two
years," etc., etc.

In the morning I had a peculiarly disagreeable experience at Lohne,
some distance from the German frontier, where we had again to
change trains en route to the capital. Experience had by this time
taught me, when thrown with people on the road, to show them my
papers and make my identity known as soon as possible.

I therefore clung pretty closely to my argumentative German
acquaintance of Bentheim and Aix. During the melee of changing
cars I was, however, separated from him, and became engaged in
conversation (spoken in English) with a Dutch chocolate merchant.
The argument must have been interesting, for I did not at first notice a
crowd of twenty or thirty travelers and villagers gathering around us: I
did, however, notice when they began to push and jostle in a manner
obviously intended for insult. When I tried to retreat the exits were
locked. The crowd, convinced that I was an English spy, closed more
compactly and manhandled me off toward an officer on the street
behind the platform. My hat was knocked off, and for a brief moment I
recalled the lynching anger which I had seen in the eyes of Belgian
mobs, as German spies in