"_La presse_," I replied briefly. "_Bien_!" was the reply. We drove down the dark street, I astonished at this city that had found itself; this nation that had got quietly and determinately to business, at the very signal of conflict, to the amazement of the entire world. PART TWO THE GREATEST STORY [Illustration: WYTHE WILLIAMS OF THE "NEW YORK TIMES"] CHAPTER VI THE ACTUALITY On the sidewalk _terrasse_ of a little café a few doors from the American Embassy I was one of a quartet of newspaper men on one of the final afternoons of August, 1914. War news, thanks to the censor, had lapsed in volume and intensity; but the troubles of refugee Americans still made our cables bulky, and we continued to pass much time at the Embassy or in its vicinity. A man wabbled wearily down the street on a bicycle. I recognized him as a "special correspondent" who had called on me ten days before, asking advice as to where he should apply for credentials permitting him to describe battles. He later disappeared into the then vague territory known as the "zone of military activity," without any papers authorizing the trip. He leaned his bicycle against a tree and joined us. He had little to say as to where he had been, but told us that he had been a prisoner of the British army for several days. He mentioned a town near the Belgian frontier where, as he described the situation, "the entire army came piling in before he had a chance to pile out." I do not know what made me suspect that Mr. Special Correspondent was then the possessor of big news, for he gave not the slightest suggestion of the direction in which the British army was traveling. But I suspected him. In a few minutes he left us to call on the Ambassador. Later, when I saw him ride away from the Embassy on his bicycle, I sent in my card. Mr. Herrick was as bland as usual, but there was a worried look on his face. I wasted no time. "Mr. ---- called on you this afternoon," I said, naming the special correspondent. "He told you some real news." "Yes, that is so," the Ambassador replied. "How did you guess it?" I explained that I only had a suspicion, and the Ambassador continued: "He cannot cable it, you need not worry. He will not attempt it. He has gone now to write an account for the mail. He told me so that I could make some plans." "Some plans?" I interrupted. "The news is bad then."