h the line of march from
Trafalgar Square to Marlborough House. While we waited, I scanned the
group-photographs on the walls, some of which contained portraits of
German Rhodes Scholars with whom I had been acquainted. I remembered
how they had always spent their vacations in England, assiduously
bicycling to the most unexpected places. In the light of later
developments I thought I knew the reason.

Suddenly, far away bands struck up. We thronged the windows, leaning
out that we might miss nothing. Through the half mile of people
that stretched between us and the music a shudder of excitement was
running. Then came cheers--the deep-throated babel of men's voices and
the shrill staccato of women's. "They're coming," some one cried; then
I saw them.

I forget which regiment lead. The Coldstreams were there, the Scotch
and Welsh Guards, the Irish Guards with their saffron kilts and green
ribbons floating from their bag-pipes. A British regimental band
marched ahead of each American regiment to do it honour. Down the
sunlit canyon of Pall Mall they swung to the tremendous cheering
of the crowd. Quite respectable citizens had climbed lamp-posts and
railings, and were waving their hats. I caught the words that were
being shouted, "Are we downhearted?" Then, in a fierce roar of denial,
"No!" It was a wonderful ovation--far more wonderful than might have
been expected from a people who had grown accustomed to the sight of
troops during the last three years. The genuineness of the welcome
was patent; it was the voice of England that was thundering along the
pavements.

I was anxious to see the quality of the men which America had sent.
They drew near; then I saw them plainly. They were fine strapping
chaps, broad of shoulder and proudly independent. They were not
soldiers yet; they were civilians who had been rushed into khaki.
Their equipment was of every kind and sort and spoke eloquently of the
hurry in which they had been brought together. That meant much to us
in London-much more than if they had paraded with all the "spit and
polish" of the crack troops who led them. It meant to us that America
was doing her bit at the earliest date possible.

The other day, here in France, I met an officer of one of those
battalions; he told me the Americans' side of the story. They were
expert railroad troops, picked out of civilian life and packed off
to England without any pretence at military training. When they
were informed