n altruistic
origin. It was a wicked, shameful loss to the human race. That
point was very clear to us. But there was the arrant stupidity of the
Germans to be reckoned with. They have such a distorted sense
of real values. Rummaging through my pockets during these
reflections, I fished up an advertising folder out of a corner where I
had tucked it when it was presented to me by Dr. Morse. The
outside read, "How We Lost Our Best Customer." Mechanically I
opened it, and there, staring back at me from big black borders on
the inside, were the two words, "HE DIED."

These ruminations upon matters spiritual were interrupted by the
strains from a brass band which went crashing by, while ten
thousand hobnailed boots of the regiment striking the pavements
in unison beat out time like a trip-hammer.

"Perhaps the Germans are leaving Brussels," whispered a
companion; "and wouldn't we grow wild or faint or crazy to see
those guards drop away and we should find ourselves free men
again!"

The passing music had a jubilating effect upon our guards, who
paraded gayly up and down the room. One simple, good-hearted
fellow harangued us in a bantering way, pointing out our present
sorry plight as evidence of the sad mistake we had made in not
being born in Germany. He felt so happy that he took a little
collection from us, and in due time returned with some bread and
chocolate and soda water. But even the soda water, as if adjusting
itself to the spiritlessness of the prisoners, refused to effervesce.
The music had by contrast seemed only to increase the general
depression.

Only one free spirit soared above his surroundings. He was a
young Belgian--Ernest de Burgher by name--a kindly light amidst
the encircling gloom. He took everything in life with a smile. I am
sure that if death as a spy had been ordered for him at the door,
he would have met that with the same happy, imperturbable
expression. He had quite as much reason as I, if not more, for
joining our gloom-party. He, too, was waiting sentence. For six
days his wild, untamed spirit had been cabined in these walls; but
he had been born a humorist, and even in bonds he sought to play
the clown. He went through contortions, pitched coins against
himself, and staggered around the room with a soda-water bottle
at his lips, imitating a drunkard. But ours was a tough house even
for his irrepressible spirit to play to. Despite all his efforts, we sat
around like a convention of c