Through other chaps I met those days, other deep, tremendous vistas opened up as backgrounds for these Paris friends of mine. Half the night, in that cafe endeared to so many youths of all nations under its name of "The Dirty Spoon," I heard talk about all things under the sun, talk that was a merry war of words, ideas and points of view as wide apart as that of a Jap and a German. For every land upon the earth had sent its army of ideas, and they all charged together here, and the walls of the Dirty Spoon resounded with the battle--with roars of laughter and applause. For we were of free, tolerant minds. We were gay, young dogs of war who had left our tails behind us--our tails of prejudice, distrust--and our emancipated souls had only scorn for hatreds born of race or creed. Like J. K., we had rid ourselves of all creeds past and present--but J. K. had always been free with a scowl, his feet set grimly on the ground--we here were free with a verve and a dash that took us careering up into the stars to laugh at the very heavens. There was breadth in our very manner of speech. For here were we from all over the earth, all speaking one tongue, the language in which half the things that had moved the world had been said by men before us. And what sparkling things there were still to be said, what dazzling things we would see and do, in this prodigious onward march of the armies of peace, out of all dark ages into a glad new world for men, where our great smiling goddess of all the arts would reign supreme, where we would dream mighty visions of life and all these visions would come true. So we saw the world those days in the radiant city on the Seine. And meanwhile far up in the North, the Russian Czar, having started with loud ostentation the movement for a world-wide peace, was swiftly completing his preparations to strike with his armies at Japan. And the other nations of Europe, jealous and suspicious of each other's every secret plan--they, too, were making ready for what the future years might bring. "Young men are lucky. They will see great things." And these young men have seen great things. But they have not been lucky. CHAPTER XI It was about a year after this that again Joe Kramer broke in on my dreams. He arrived early on a raw, wet morning in the following winter. His all-night ride from Cherbourg had left him disheveled, unshaven and hungry. "Well, boys," he asked when our greetings were over, "what do you think of the news?" "What news?" Joe gave us a grim, fatherly smile.