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There are no loose ends and
no waste to the German military system; I can see that. The soldiers in
the street cheer the wounded as they pass and the wounded answer by
singing Die Wacht am Rhein feebly.
One poor chap raises his head and looks out. He appears to be almost
spent, but I see his lips move as he tries to sing. You may not care
for the German cause, but you are bound to admire the German spirit--the
German oneness of purpose.
Noon. As the Texas darky said: "Dinnertime fur some folks; but just
twelve o'clock fur me!" Again I smell something cooking upstairs. On
the mantel of the shabby little interior sitting room, where we spend
most of our time sitting about in a sad circle, is a little black-and-
tan terrier pup, stuffed and mounted, with shiny glass eyes--a family
pet, I take it, which died and was immortalized by the local
taxidermist. If I only knew what that dog was stuffed with I would take
a chance and eat him.
I have a fellow feeling for Arctic explorers who go north and keep on
going until they run out of things to eat.


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