My host in Stuttgart was a scion of one of the aristocratic families, and I had a chance to peep into the gay German life of the period. We used to lunch quite often at the officers’ mess of a certain smart cavalry regiment who were noted for their daring and bravery as well as for lavish entertaining. A most amazing habit that these genial souls indulged in struck horror to my very marrow. At regular intervals, as a test, they were required to ride a distance of twenty miles. Tied to the saddlebow was a magnum of champagne, and they must drink this on the way, the one reaching the end of the journey first being considered the real male of the crowd. This was not so bad, but they did not hesitate to run down peasants and kill them without compunction. Their foolhardiness and utter indifference to the lives of the country people was an ingrained part of their natures, and no one seemed to think anything about it. It was considered a huge joke if one of the cavalry officers was found later thrown from his horse into the bushes and dead drunk. Employed by my friend as a tutor for his children was an unfrocked French curate, and he was always arguing that the German women were plain. I was asked as an artist to judge. At four o’clock in the afternoon, we went out to the promenade and watched the beauties of the city pass by. From that motley crowd I was able to pick out only eight who were at all pretty. Of these, they told me that two were American, two English, one Swedish, and two Viennese, while only one of the whole galaxy was from Stuttgart. Chapter IX: First Decorations Coming home—somehow it did not seem as if it could be a reality. I had begun to feel quite American when my fellow passengers started calling me “Colonel Cody.” In Europe I had passed easily for an Englishman and sometimes a Swede, it being very foolish to admit a residence in the U. S. A. unless one was prepared to be cheated on every hand. But as the boat neared American soil I felt my patriotism rising every minute. Thirteen years is a long time for a man to be away from his native land. A Canadian on board the English ship became a kindred spirit—we “Westerners” finding it necessary to form a close alliance. He and I played bridge every day with two men, one from Glasgow and one from Liverpool. During a heated conversation, one of them made the remark that we were getting quite cocky over in the States, adding that England would “have to be sending some ships and men over to settle America before long.” At that, a little voice piped up (the Canadian’s) saying: “What! again?” The steward was sent for and drinks ordered, for the British _do_ know how to pay when they are beaten.