, a beefsteak and fried potatoes, most
succulent of all Dutch dishes, crisp white bread, hot from the midnight
baking, and appetizing Dutch butter, largely compensated for the thrills
of the night. Then I sent for some more coffee, black this time, and a
railway guide, and lighting a cigarette began to frame my plan of
campaign.

The train for Berlin left Rotterdam at seven in the morning. It was now
ten minutes past two, so I had plenty of time. From that night onward, I
told myself, I was a German, and from that moment I set myself
assiduously to _feel_ myself a German as well as enact the part.

"It's no use dressing a part," Francis used to say to me; "you must
_feel_ it as well. If I were going to disguise myself as a Berliner, I
should not be content to shave my head and wear a bowler hat with a
morning coat and get my nails manicured pink. I should begin by
persuading myself that I was the Lord of creation, that bad manners is a
sign of manly strength and that dishonesty is the highest form of
diplomacy. Then only should I set about getting the costume!"

Poor old Francis! How shrewd he was and how well he knew his Berliners!

There is nothing like newspapers for giving one an idea of national
sentiment. I had not spoken to a German, save to a few terrified German
rats, prisoners of war in France, since the beginning of the war and I
knew that my knowledge of German thought must be rusty. So I sent the
willing waiter for all the German papers and periodicals he could lay
his hands on. He returned with stacks of them, _Berliner Tageblatt,
Kelnische Zeitung, Vorwerts;_ the alleged comic papers, _Kladderadatsch,
Lustige Bletter_ and _Simplicissimus;_ the illustrated press, _Leipziger
Illustrirte Zeitung, Der Weltkrieg im Bild,_ and the rest: that
remarkable cafe even took in such less popular publications as Harden's
_Zukunft_ and semi-blackmailing rags like _Der Roland von Berlin._

For two hours I saturated myself with German contemporary thought as
expressed in the German press. I deliberately laid my mind open to
conviction; I repeated to myself over and over again: "We Germans are
fighting a defensive war: the scoundrelly Grey made the world-war: Gott
strafe England!" Absurd as this proceeding seems to me when I look back
upon it, I would not laugh at myself at the time. I must be German, I
must feel German, I must think German: on that would my safety in the
immediate future depend.

I laid aside my read