yours
happened to be the unlucky one. I have a brother in America and I
wish to send a letter to him to let him know that all is well with me.
Would you have the goodness to post it?"

"I'll do better than that, Captain," said I. "If you will give me your
brother's name and address, and if he takes the New York World,
he will read in to-morrow morning's paper that I have met you."

And the next morning, just as I had promised, Mr. F. zur Nedden of
Rosebank, New York, was astonished to read in the columns of his
morning paper that I had left his soldier-brother comfortably
quartered in a farmhouse on the outskirts of Renaix, Belgium, in
excellent health but drinking more red wine than was likely to be
good for him.

It was now considerably past midday, and we were within a few
miles of the French frontier, when I saw the guidon which signified
the presence of the head of the army, planted at the entrance to a
splendid old chateau. As we passed between the stately gateposts,
whirled up the splendid, tree-lined drive and came to a stop in front
of the terrace, a dozen officers came running out to meet us. So
cordial and informal were their greetings that I felt as though I were
being welcomed at a country-house in America instead of the
headquarters of a German army in the field. So perfect was the
field-telephone service that the staff had been able to keep in touch
with our progress ever since, five hours before, we had entered the
German lines, and had waited dinner for us. General von Boehn I
found to be a red-faced, grey-moustached, jovial old warrior, who
seemed very much worried for fear that we were not getting enough
to eat, and particularly enough to drink. He explained that the
Belgian owners of the chateau had had the bad taste to run away
and take their servants with them, leaving only one bottle of
champagne in the cellar. That bottle was good, however, as far as it
went. Nearly all the officers spoke English, and during the meal the
conversation was chiefly of the United States, for one of them had
been attached to the German Embassy at Washington and knew
the golf-course at Chevy Chase better than I do myself; another
had fished in California and shot elk in Wyoming; and a third had
attended the army school at Fort Riley. After dinner we grouped
ourselves on the terrace and Thompson made photographs of us.
They are probably the only ones--in this war, at least--of a German
general and an American war