“_Ja_,” I agreed, “but the offensive?” for the papers were still gloating over the March success. “The offensive?” he went on, “_Ach_, the offensive is doing splendidly! They’ve captured fifty thousand prisoners! They’re going _immer fester d’rauf_!” and he beat himself on the chest in illustration. “_Ach, Lieber_, it’ll soon be over now!” “I thought you’d captured one hundred and twenty thousand prisoners,” I protested, puzzled. “_Ach_,” exclaimed the guard, “This isn’t _us_, it’s the _French_!” We had three hours to wait for our train, so he took me for a stroll around Gadebusch. We visited two ladies who had sons in English and French imprisonment. Both of them talked kindly to me and said that their sons wrote pleasing accounts of their treatment at the hands of the enemy. Later he took me to see another English prisoner in a private home. It was a joy to meet him and speak the language again, exchanging the stories of our varied adventures. He was “all right” there, enjoying the privileges of a favored slave in the home, valued by his master and loved by the children, for whom his broken German was a source of never-ending amusement. “Well, what are you going to do with him?” asked his master jocularly of my guard. “Don’t you want another _Engländer_, Annie?” he asked, turning to the oldest girl. “_Ja, Ja!_” shouted both the children at once. Finding me agreeable, the old man and the guard immediately framed a letter to the _Komandatur_ asking for my return to Gadebusch, when my punishment was over. We took a third class passage back to the camp at Parchim. It was one of those long carriages with seats along the sides like a tram. A large crowd boarded the train at Gadebusch, but we got in among the first and managed to get seats. When the guard announced my nationality, I promptly became the cynosure of neighboring eyes and the object of innumerable questions, which he obligingly answered. At the next station we received another influx of passengers, including a number of females, the scarcity of the seats and the preoccupation of the gentlemen occupying them forcing the latter to stand. This gave me the opportunity for a cheap triumph, lessened somewhat by the fact that there was no one beside myself to enjoy it. I arose gallantly and grasped a strap. “In England,” I said loud enough to be heard throughout the carriage, “the men are glad enough to _stand_ when there are _ladies_ without seats!” I was the cynosure of piercing glares, but after an awkward pause, the men of the “superior” race began one by one to follow my example. I grinned inwardly, but my outward mien preserved the due humility of a _Kriegsgefangener_, and my eyes rested on the distant fields. FOOTNOTES: [15] Germany is beaten. [16] Dead. [17] Nothing. CHAPTER XV _“Mad Alek” and “Good Paul”_