I had a streak of luck.

It is forbidden to civilians, and more particularly to correspondents, to go prowling about eastern Belgium just now; but I found a friend in a naturalized German- American, formerly of Chicago, but living now in Germany, though he still retains his citizenship in the United States.
Like every one else in Aachen, he is doing something for the government, though I can only guess at the precise nature of his services.

At any rate he had an automobile, a scarce thing to find in private hands in these times; and, what was more, he had a military pass authorizing him to go to Liege and to take two passengers along.

He invited me to go with him for a day's ride through the country where the very first blows were swapped in the western theater of hostilities.
We started off in the middle of a fickle-minded shower, which first blew puffs of wetness in our faces, like spray on a flawy day at sea, and then broke off to let the sun shine through for a minute or two.

For two or three kilometers after clearing the town we ran through a district that smiled with peace and groaned with plenty.