usual, at any rate going on.

The muddy plains between the factory towns were green with winter wheat,
the crop which is to carry the country through another year. Meanwhile,
one was told, the railroad rights of way would be planted, and land not
needed for beets--for with no sugar going out Germany can produce more
now than she needs--also be seeded to wheat.

Here in Berlin we are, it seems, being starved out, but in the complex
web of a modern city it is rather hard to tell just what that means: In
ordinary times, for instance, Germany imports thirty-five million
dollars' worth of butter and eggs from Russia, which, of course, is not
coming in now, yet butter seems to appear, and at a central place like
the Victoria Cafe, at the corner of Unter den Linden and
Friedrichsstrasse, two soft-boiled eggs cost fifty pfennigs, or twelve
and a half cents, which is but two and a half cents more than they cost
before the war, and that includes a morning paper and a window from
which to see Berlin going by. Even were Berlin, in a journalistic
sense, "starving," one presumes the cosmopolitans in the tea-rooms of
the Kaiserhof or Adlon or Esplanade would still have their trays of
fancy cakes to choose from and find no difficulty in getting plenty to
eat at a--for them--not unreasonable price.

For weeks white bread has had to contain a certain amount of rye flour
and rye bread a certain amount of potato--the so-called war bread--and,
except in the better hotels, one was served, unless one ordered
specially, with only two or three little wisps of this "Kriegsbrod." For
Frenchmen this would mean a real privation, but Germans eat so little
bread, comparatively speaking, that one believes the average person
scarcely noticed the difference. Every one must have his bread-card