Part 1 (2/2)
”He seemed typical to me. I don't recall another man who has impressed me so much. To me he personified the great German military organization which we are all so sure is invincible.”
”And it _is_ invincible. Nothing like the German army has ever before stood on this planet. A great race, strong in both body and mind, has devoted itself for half a century to learning everything that is to be learned about war. It's a magnificent machine, smooth, powerful, tremendous, unconquerable, and for that very reason neither you nor I, John, will ever see a war of the first magnitude in Europe. It would be too destructive. The nations would shrink back, appalled. Besides, the tide is the other way. Remember all those ministers who came over with us on the boat to attend the peace conference at Constance.”
John accepted readily all that Mr. Anson said, and the significance of the Prussian, due he was sure to his own imagination, pa.s.sed quickly from his mind. But he was tired of pictures. He had found that he could a.s.similate only a certain quant.i.ty, and after that all the rest, even be they Raphael, Murillo and Rubens, became a mere blur.
”Let's go out and walk on the terraces over the river,” he said.
”But many other famous pictures are here. We can't afford to go back to America, and admit that we haven't seen some of the masterpieces of the Dresden gallery.”
John laughed.
”No, we can't,” he said, ”because if we do ignore a single one that's the very one all our friends will tell us we should certainly have seen.
But my eyes are growing tired, there's a congestion in the back of my head, and these polished floors have stiffened my ankles. Besides, we've plenty of time, and we can come back as often as we wish.”
”I suppose then that we must go,” said Mr. Anson, reluctantly. ”But one should make the most of the opportunities for culture, vouchsafed to him.”
John made no reply. He had heard that note so often. Mr. Anson was tremendous on ”culture”, and John thought it all right for him and others like him, but he preferred his own methods for himself. He led the way from the gallery and the older man followed reluctantly.
The sun, having gone behind the clouds, stayed there and Dresden was still gray, but John liked it best in its sober colors. Then the homely touch, the friendly feeling in the air were stronger. These people were much like his own. Many of them could have pa.s.sed for Americans, and they welcomed as brethren those who came from beyond the Atlantic.
He looked from the Bruhl Terraces over the Elbe--a fine river too he thought it--the galleries, the palaces, the opera house, the hotels, and all the good gray city, beloved of English and Americans as well as Germans.
”What is that buzzing and whirring, John?” asked Mr. Anson suddenly.
”Look up! Always look up, when you hear that sound, and you will see the answer to your question written in the skies! There it goes! It's pa.s.sing over the portion of the city beyond the river.”
The long black shape of the Zeppelin dirigible was outlined clearly, as it moved off swiftly toward the southwest. It did not seem to diminish in size, as it left the city, but hung huge and somber against the sky, its whirr and buzz still audible.
”An interesting toy,” said Mr. Anson.
”If a toy, it's certainly a gigantic one,” said John.
”Tremendous in size, but a toy nevertheless.”
”We're going up in it you know.”
”Are you still bent upon that wild flight?”
”Why there's no danger. Herr Simmering, the proprietor of our hotel, chartered a dirigible last week, and took up all the guests who were willing to pay and go. I've talked to some of them and they say it was a wonderful experience. You remember that he's chartered another for next week, and you promised me we could go.”
”Yes, I promised, but I thought at the time that something would surely happen to prevent it.”
”Indian promises! I won't let you back out now!”
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