you will cablegram any of these, you will get an immediate reply.
While I have no money for this now, I feel certain Mr. Fletcher, who
is associated with Mr. Lane, of the United States Cabinet, will back
you up, and there will be unlimited funds in America.

Sincerely yours, ALBERT R. WILLIAMS.

My attention has been called to the omission of the Angel Gabriel,
Mary Pickford and Ty Cobb from the list of my intimate friends in
the above document. That was not meant as a slight--purely an
oversight. At any rate, I felt that the long list of men whose names
were written here would make the right response to any cablegram.
To atone for dragging them into the affray I call attention to the highly
deferential and decorative manner in which I referred to them.
Be it remembered that this document was prepared quite as
much for German eyes as for the Ambassador's, and nothing
gives a man standing and respect in the Teutonic mind as much
as a name fearfully and wonderfully adorned. I resolved that my
importance was not to suffer from lack of glory in my friends.
I bestowed more honorary degrees on them than the average
small college does in ten commencements. So lavish was I that
my friends hardly recognize their own titular selves. An officer
designated the guard who would deliver the letter. I gave it to
him along with a franc, which he protestingly accepted. He reported
that it was delivered to Javert. That was the last I ever heard from
that message. I imagine that it was by no means the last that the
German authorities heard from it, for when I related the story to
the Ambassador some time later I saw a characteristic Brand
Whitlock letter a-brewing. My message to Vice-Consul Naesmith
and to the Hotel Metropole shared a like fate--they were undelivered.

I simply offer the facts as they are. It may be that the courtesies of
polite intercourse are not easy to observe in war. Certainly they
were not obtrusive in Belgium. In extenuation it may be said that
the Brussels postmen had struck about this time; but, on the other
hand, through the forbidden shutters I saw fully fifty German Boy
Scouts marshaled in the courtyard below.

I had noticed them before as messengers going down the most
unguarded by-ways of the slums, quite as if they were agents of a
welcomed instead of hated army. They rode along serenely as if
totally unconscious of the shining targets that they made. I felt
certain that no American gang would let sli