But this walking around Without touching the ground Is getting to be quite a bore!” I only wish I could see the translations of these foolish rhymes that must have been made before they could decide whether or not I had a bomb up my sleeve to put the Kaiser out with. Fancy this in German: “The poor benighted Hindoo, He does the best he kindo; He sticks to caste From first to last; For pants he makes his skindo.” Some of the ships sank and they had to get a boat hook and raise them. My nonsense seems to have had its effect. I saw in this morning’s paper that some of the foreigners held in Berlin have gone crazy. I believe they mean me. I must think up some more foolishness. I feel that the more I occupy this spy who has me in charge, the better it is for the Allies. I try to be neutral but my stomach is rebelling at German food,[75] and who can be neutral with a prejudiced stomach? [75] We are trying to cook in our room. You know what a wonder your little mumsy is at knocking up an omelette and making coffee and what not, and we also find it is much more economical to eat there all we can. When we are there, we are out of sight of the spy, who, of course, can’t help his job, but neither can I help wanting to kick his broad bean. He is such a block-head. He reminds me of the Mechanician Man, in our comic papers: “Brains he has nix.” He is evidently doing just exactly what he has been wound up and set to do. I can’t quite see why I should be such an important person that I should need a whole spy to myself. I can’t get out of Berlin unless I fly out and I see no chance of that. ******* I have had my interview with the Ambassador. He sent for me, and the wonderful thing was that it was because of the ball you had set rolling in Paris. When one Ambassador gets in communication[76] with another Ambassador, even when it is about as unimportant a thing as I am, there is something doing immediately. You must have made a hit, honey, with the powers in France, they got busy so fast. It seems that the Imperial
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