The world was our playground, and my study hall American first. We drove east, taking our time, while I tried to get the temper of the people. I never overlooked a chance to talk to people; the papers were no substitute for that. And between the papers and the people, I found that only the hysterics were voluble, only the biased articulate. And yet, it was a country with a liberal and progressive tradition, a country that should have been informed beyond the average. Knowledge had been made too easy; the glib were in command. Fear, Jars had said, and it was becoming increasingly clear to me that he was closer to it than Deering. For Deering's viewpoint, I had a working model, I had Jean. In the canyon city, New York, high in our room at the Empire-Hudson, she said, "You're an awfully nosy guy, Dream Boat." "I like to talk to people," I said. "Haven't you been getting enough attention?" "As much as I can handle," she said. "And I'm enjoying every second of it. But it seems to be getting you down." "You or the people?" I asked, and mussed her hair. She didn't answer that. "Fred," she said, "do you remember that day at breakfast, long ago? Do you remember asking about Ambrose Bierce and Amelia Earhart?" "I guess I do." "Don't be evasive, Fred. You know you do." I pulled her close. "Is this going to be a questioning period? Is this one of _those_ marriages?" "Now, Fred--" she said, against my shoulder. "Be serious, please, Fred. Please be serious--oh, you, Fred--" * * * * * We went to England. What's that phrase they have--"muddling through"? That's what they were doing. Proudly, with a minimum of complaint, with no thought of rebellion, with no rationalizing or projection, living as the submerged tenth lives in America, and seeming to think that--well, things _could_ be worse. In Italy, it was the kids, the beggars and procurers and thieves and even murderers who were kids. In Spain we found much of the same. In France it was all the heat and no light, charges and counter-charges, lies and counter-lies, confusion and corruption. In Berlin, it was Russia. The cloud that darkens the world looms darkest in Berlin. The apathy that grips the world is epitomized in Berlin. A people with no sense of guilt and no reason for hope, nor stirring to the promise of a re-armed Germany. A bled and devastated people, shorn of their chief strength, their national pride. Jean said, "I've seen enough. Haven't you, Fred? How much can you take?" "One more," I said. "Russia." "Don't be silly," she said. "How would we get into Russia?" "_We_ wouldn't. But _I_ would." "Look, baby, whither though goest, I--" "Up to here," I said. "Who's the big boss in this family?" "Now, Fred--" "Now, Jean--" "Get away from me. This time, it won't work. If you think that for one second you're going into that no man's land alone--and--"