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Page 29
Conversation was polite and perfunctory.
"It is on occasions such as these," said the lame officer, "that one
recognizes how our brothers overseas are helping the German cause."
"Your work must be extraordinarily interesting," observed one of the
dug-outs.
"All your difficulties are now over," said the Major, much in the manner
of the chorus of a Greek play. "You will be in Berlin to-night, where
your labours will be doubtless rewarded. American friends of Germany are
not popular in London, I should imagine!"
I murmured: "Hardly."
"You must possess infinite tact to have aroused no suspicion," said the
Major.
"That depends," I said.
"Pardon me," replied the Major, in whom I began to recognize all the
signs of an unmitigated gossip, "I know something of the importance of
your mission. I speak amongst ourselves, is it not so, gentlemen? There
were special orders about you from the Corps Command at M�nster. Your
special has been waiting for you here for four days. The gentleman who
came to meet you has been in a fever of expectation. He had already left
the station this morning when ... when I met you, I sent word for him to
pick you up here."
The plot was thickening. I most certainly was a personage of note.
"What part of America do you come from, Mr. Semlin?" said a voice in
perfect English from the corner. The one-armed officer was speaking.
"From Brooklyn," I said stoutly, though my heart seemed turned to ice
with the shock of hearing my own tongue.
"You have no accent," the other replied suavely.
"Some Americans," I retorted sententiously, "would regard that as a
compliment. Not all Americans talk through their noses any more than we
all chew or spit in public."
"I know," said the young man. "I was brought up there!"
We were surrounded by smiling faces. This officer who could speak
English was evidently regarded as a bit of a wag by his comrades. I
seized the opportunity to give them in German a humorous description of
my simplicity in explaining to a man brought up in the United States
that all Americans were not the caricatures depicted in the European
comic press.
There was a roar of laughter from the room.
"Ach, dieser Schmalz!" guffawed the Major, beating his thigh in ecstasy.
"Kolossal!" echoed one of the dug-outs. The lame man smiled wanly and
said it was "incredible how humorous Schmalz could be."
I had hoped that the conversation might now be carried on again in
German. Nothing of the kind. The room leant back in its chairs, as if
expecting the fun to go on.
It did.
"You get your clothes in London," the young officer said.
He was a trimly built young man, very pale from recent illness, with
flaxen hair and a bright, bold blue eye--the eye of a fighter. His left
sleeve was empty and was fastened across his tunic, in a button-hole of
which was twisted the black and white ribbon of the Iron Cross.
"Generally," I answered shortly, "when I go to England. Clothes are
cheaper in London."
"You must have a good ear for languages," Schmalz continued; "you speak
German like a German and English ..." he paused appreciably, "... like
an Englishman."
I felt horribly nervous. This young man never took his eyes off me: he
had been staring at me ever since I had entered the room. His manner
was perfectly calm and suave.
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