“Admirable,” I said.

We seated ourselves in the crazy conveyance, the count whispered to the chauffeur an address which my ear failed to catch and we started off at a lumbering pace along the street.

“And now tell me, Boobenstein,” I said, “what does it all mean, the foreign signs and the strange costumes?”

“My dear sir” he replied, “it is merely a further proof of our German adaptability.  Having failed to conquer the world by war we now propose to conquer it by the arts of peace:  Those people, for example, that you see in Scotch costumes are members of our Highland Mission about to start for Scotland to carry to the Scotch the good news that the war is a thing of the past, that the German people forgive all wrongs and are prepared to offer a line of manufactured goods as per catalogue sample.”

“Wonderful,” I said.

“Is it not?” said Von Boobenstein.  “We call it the From Germany Out movement.  It is being organised in great detail by our Step from Under Committee.  They claim that already four million German voters are pledged to forget the war and to forgive the Allies.  All that we now ask is to be able to put our hands upon the villains who made this war, no matter how humble their station may be, and execute them after a fair trial or possibly before.”

The count spoke with great sincerity and earnestness.  “But come along,” he added.  “I want to drive you about the city and show you a few of the leading features of our new national reconstruction.  We can talk as we go.”

“But Von Boobenstein,” I said, “you speak of the people who made the war; surely you were all in favour of it?”

“In favour of it!  We were all against it.”

“But the Kaiser,” I protested.

“The Kaiser, my poor master!  How he worked to prevent the war!  Day and night; even before anybody else had heard of it.  ‘Boob,’ he said to me one day with tears in his eyes, ‘this war must be stopped.’  ’Which war, your Serenity,’ I asked.  ‘The war that is coming next month,’ he answered, ‘I look to you, Count Boobenstein,’ he continued, ’to bear witness that I am doing my utmost to stop it a month before the English Government has heard of it.’”

While we were thus speaking our taxi had taken us out of the roar and hubbub of the main thoroughfare into the quiet of a side street.  It now drew up at the door of an unpretentious dwelling in the window of which I observed a large printed card with the legend

   Reverend Mr. Tibbits
   Private Tuition, English, Navigation,
   and other Branches

We entered and were shown by a servant into a little front room where a venerable looking gentleman, evidently a Lutheran minister, was seated in a corner at a writing table.  He turned on our entering and at the sight of the uniform which I wore jumped to his feet with a vigorous and unexpected oath.

“It is all right, Admiral,” said Count Von Boobenstein.  “My friend is not really a sailor.”