The next day he saw an announcement that a great meeting was to be held that same night at the Imperial Opera House, to be addressed by certain well-known statesmen. The purpose of the meeting was to instruct the public as to the real causes of the war, and to point out the nation's duty. Bob made up his mind to go. Throughout the day he applied himself to his work, and then after an early dinner he left the Temple, and going out by way of the Temple Church found himself in Fleet Street. Everywhere the evidences of the war were manifest. On every conveyance was a call to arms. Newsboys were eagerly shouting the contents of the papers, people were talking in the streets of the one prevailing topic. Presently he stopped at a bookshop, and was immediately struck with the changed character of the literature in the window. There were no "latest novels," no "new and important biographies"; instead every shelf was weighted with books about the war. "GERMANY AND THE NEXT WAR, by General von Bernhardi. Startling disclosures of Germany's aims and plans, by a well-known German General," he read. "This is one of the most popular books in Germany, and is recommended by the Kaiser and the Crown Prince of Germany, as a book which every patriot should read. It explains why we are at war to-day." Side by side were others of a similar description, all written by men who bore the greatest German names. Prince von Buelow, ex-German Chancellor, Nietzsche, Trietschke, and similar great names were given as the authors of the books. Bob entered the shop, and having selected three which he thought promised to give him the best idea of Germany's aims and methods, ordered the bookseller to send them to his chambers. When he reached the Great Opera House, early as it was, he found a vast concourse of people. After some little difficulty he found a seat in a good position for viewing the audience. He was immediately struck by the fact that here was no thoughtless, irresponsible crowd; rather one largely made up of men of grim determination and iron will. They were intelligent, well-read men too. They knew the history of their country, knew its weakness, and realised its faults. Nevertheless they loved it. They were not saints. They were just commonplace people, who lived commonplace lives, amidst commonplace surroundings. But they had a sense of right and wrong, and in spite of their failings they had an inherent love of right. They were Englishmen who instinctively hated war, and would do anything in their power to avoid it. But there were, to them, worse things than war. Breach of faith was one; the destruction of truth, honour, and the nation's good name was another. If England had made a promise, no matter what it cost her, she must keep it. England could not stand by and see a little nation whom she had promised to protect, crushed: