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of the traveller's passport granting entrance into Germany, as the passport did not read for that country.

Having despatched the foregoing letter in the open mail, Major Winchell returned, a happy man, to his hotel in Rotterdam. Packing his grip, he was in readiness to start next morning for Hamburg.

But alas! alack! A message was received from The Hague, about two hours after permission had been granted, saying that it had been called off. Thus ran the message:

"Even though you have the pass, if you attempt to go into Germany, you will be arrested. Something has developed since you left The Hague to-day that forbids your entrance into that country. You are advised not to go."

German diplomacy had made a flank movement and charged on the Major's hopes. But he did not retire from the field or beat a retreat.

That is,

Like the forces in various parts of the European battle-fields, he awaited the next move. he deferred further action pending the outcome of his letter to the civil governor. A week later, The Hague was heard from again, this time announcing that permission was granted for Major Winchell to go to Germany and that he would not be molested at the border. But he must not enter Belgium at that time. Such permission depended entirely upon future developments.

Happiness again was restored to the Major. Looking up the train which would leave Rotterdam next morning for Hamburg, he sent a wire to Dr. Asenjo announcing his arrival in that city at six o'clock next evening.

Thus, on Saturday morning, December 11, 1915, the Major boarded a train at the Maas station in Rotterdam and set out for his promised land. Bentheim, Germany, just across the border, was reached at one o'clock.

The stranger had heard much of the wonderful organization of the German army but now, for the first time, came into direct contact with it. The station at Bentheim was well equipped for the search of those passing from one country into the other. Probably one hundred passengers on the same train were subjected to most thorough search, German officers knowing how to do it. War is war and this was their right. They had set up little wooden closets, each just large enough to accommodate one person, and in these the passengers were required to disrobe more or less. The officers were as careful in searching people of their own nationality as those of other lands.

The Major watched the quick, athletic, deliberate and systematic work of these soldiers detailed to search the travellers. Everything looked most militaristic. War was in the very air. The Germans were polite but not at all sentimental.

When the American presented his passport it was with a feeling more or less of wonder as to what

the outcome would be. Would they find something to force him back to Holland or to send him forward? Perhaps he might be relegated to a camp of interned civilians wherein thousands of non-combatants have been kept since the war started -not a cheering possibility. Truly it was an hour of anxious waiting. The passport was examined and then taken away for further examination, being given a numbered claim check. After rigid search in one of the dressing closets, nothing was found upon the Major more serious than a photograph of his two-year-old son, Wallace, Jr., which was not taken from him.

After the subordinates, one after another, had finished their part of the search, a lieutenant who spoke excellent English called the Major aside and the following conversation ensued:

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"Well, Winchell, you have arrived at last.” "I have."

"And you are on your way whither ? "

"Hamburg."

"Did you come directly from New York to Hol

land ?"

"No; I came by way of Liverpool."

"How long did you remain in England ?" "About three weeks."

"Why so long?"

The Major explained about the accident to General Booth which had delayed him in London and the German continued:

"When passing through the waters about the