I wanted to know just what the editor meant by preparedness for war and just when a nation's honor was so damaged that nothing but war would restore it. There seemed to be no time left to have this question answered, and as there was some danger that we would separate with this important subject upon our minds and perhaps interfering with our digestion, I asked whether in conclusion I might tell another ethnological anecdote, which would illustrate my need of light upon that question of preparedness for war. To this they all assented if I could vouch for its being as good as the others. I thought it was better because I was sure it was true, and the joke was on me. Every one settled down expectantly except the Herr Director who never relishes my stories, having a fine collection of his own which he tells remarkably well. I had to wait at a small station in the West for one of those periodically late trains, and was reading the only fiction available, the railroad time-table. A train which came from the opposite direction brought a gang of working men who had been shovelling the snow which had blocked the road. As they were all immigrants I had no further use for my time-table and went among them, guessing at their nationality, sorting them according to the shape of their heads, delighting my soul by talking to them as much as I could of their native country, and quizzing them about their experience in the United States. I had succeeded splendidly with all of them and there was but one man left. As soon as I saw him I said to myself, "He is a Russian, not a common Russian, but of the Velko Russ variety which is still rare or comparatively rare among our immigrant population." I walked up to him and saluted him with the pious greeting of his class. There wasn't the slightest indication that he understood me, so I concluded that I was mistaken; but knowing that he was a Slav, I tried a greeting in Polish, and again the great, shaggy Slav seemed not to understand. When Bohemian failed, I decided that my error was merely geographical and this was a Southern, not a Northern Slav. I used all the Serbic I knew without getting anything but a stare from my victim, and then decided that he might be an Albanian. Knowing only two words of that language I tried them with the same negative result. Finally, disgusted with myself I resorted to English. Feeling sure that he would not understand, I shouted at him, "Are you a Greek?" Then a ray of intelligence passed over his stolid face. Deliberately taking his pipe out of his mouth, he laconically replied: "No, I am from Missoury." A shout of laughter followed my story; but the Herr Director's face grew darker and darker. When we were in our taxicab going back to the hotel, he said: "One of the most remarkable things I have learned to-day about the American people is that they are very young, almost childlike." "Why, how did you learn that?" I asked.