to go about their business and return when necessary. Another instance
of this fatal red-tapism of French officialdom came in the shape of a
summons from the fiscal office of Vernon, where I have a little country
place on the Seine, to pay the sum of two francs, which is the annual
tax for a float I had there for boating purposes. This trivial paper,
coming in amidst the whirlpool of mobilization, displays the mentality
of the provincial officials.

After doing some writing, I went on my new bicycle to the chancellery of
the United States Embassy and saw a crowd of about seventy Americans on
the sidewalk awaiting their turn to obtain identification papers. I met
here Mr. Bernard J. Schoninger, former president of the American Chamber
of Commerce in Paris. The news of the outbreak of war found him at
Luchon in the Pyrenees. All train service being monopolized for the
troops, he came in his automobile to Paris, a distance of about a
thousand kilometers. All went smoothly until he reached Tours, when he
was held up at every five kilometers by guards who demanded his papers.
Chains or ropes were often stretched across the roads. Mr. Schoninger
showed the guards his visiting card, explained who he was, and said that
he was going to Paris on purpose to get his papers. The authorities were
very civil, as they usually are to all Americans who approach them
politely, and allowed him to motor to Neuilly, just outside the
fortifications of Paris.

I proceeded on my wheel to the Embassy, where I found our Ambassador
very busy with the American Relief Committee and with the American
Ambulance people.

Several Americans at the Embassy were making impractical requests, as
for instance that the American Ambassador demand that the French