Herbert reluctantly found some money in one of the seven pockets he had not felt in.  Then we advanced once more.

This time there was no going back.  Right into the body of the fishmonger’s we strode and stood firmly opposite the salesman.

“Now,” I whispered tensely.

But Herbert hesitated, and even as he wobbled the salesman began his suggestions.

“Yes, Sir?  Lobsters or prawns, Sir?  Some very good salmon this morning—­very fine fish indeed, Sir.”

“Er, as a matter of fact,” said Herbert, “we just wanted to know if you would be so kind as to direct us to the nearest post-office?—­the one just across the road, you know,” he added nervously.

“Herbert,” I said in his private ear, “be a man.”

Herbert pulled himself together.  “Would you,” he said to the salesman, “would you please let me look at some b-b-blobsters?”

* * * * *

A BAD DREAM.

Sunday.—­Great news!  The plan suggested by the Anglo-German Alliance Committee is at last to be carried out.  There is to be an exchange of garrisons, that is to say, certain English towns are to be garrisoned by German regiments, while certain German towns are to have English garrisons.  Our own town, though a small one, is to have the distinguished honour of being the first to give this mark of friendship to the world.  All the arrangements have been made, and to-morrow the 901st Prussian regiment of infantry is to march in.  It will be a great day for Dartlebury, and we shall all do our best, though the public notice has been short, to give our gallant visitors a warm and truly British reception.

Monday.—­Our German friends have arrived.  At 11 o’clock this morning it was announced that they were approaching, headed by their band.  The Mayor, Alderman Farthingale, and the whole Corporation, including the three Labour members recently elected, immediately proceeded to the old city wall to meet them.  They were accompanied by the municipal band in full uniform, playing “Die Wacht am Rhein,” which they had been assiduously practising.  Unfortunately this led to what might have been a somewhat painful contretemps.  On meeting the municipal band the Prussian commander, Colonel von Brausebrum, halted his soldiers and in a loud voice declared that our men were playing out of tune.  Perhaps this was true, but the offence was involuntary and in any case it was hardly serious enough to call for the arrest of the whole band.  Arrested, however, they were, and it was a melancholy sight to see them marched off by a corporal’s guard.  Mr. Zundnadel, the chief of the band, is himself of German origin, and his feelings can be better imagined than described.  The Mayor saved the situation by making an extremely cordial speech, in which he spoke of the English and the Germans as ancient brothers-in-arms.  The Colonel in his reply said his mission was a glorious one, and everything would depend on the way we conducted ourselves.  What can he have meant?  The march was then resumed, but another halt was made in the High Street to remove the French flag which Mucklow, the linen-draper, had very tactlessly stuck up over his shop.  He too was arrested, with wife and family, and was lodged in jail.  Luckily no further incident disturbed the harmony of the proceedings.