A diplomatic officer is a peculiar individual. I wish I were one—sometimes. I wouldn't have liked to be Brand Whitlock, however, when this war broke out. He had been living a quiet, peaceful existence in that wonderful city of Brussels, no doubt having a good time in general, when suddenly and without warning the country was invaded by hordes of hostile Germans, who bombarded the cities, burned the hamlets, and slaughtered the people in large numbers, driving others by thousands from their homes and out of their country. Then the conqueror began oppressing the captive people, and Brand Whitlock had to act as intermediary. Besides this, he had to defend himself from those other hordes from the outside; I mean the Americans who bombarded him with offers to come over and help care for the poor, starving Belgians. I was one of them. Their motives were excellent, but their judgment was questionable, and it never seemed to enter their heads that if thousands of them went over to care for the starving Belgians, it would take a large amount of food to keep them, before ever the Belgians got any. Furthermore, the Germans did not like Americans in the country, seeing what they had done to Belgium. It wasn't pleasant to have them around. They arrested them and harassed them and caused a lot of trouble. No wonder Mr. Whitlock wrote to Dr. Van Dyke asking him to be very careful about sending Americans over. But I am a persistent person.

When I got to Brussels I went to call on this same minister. I did possess two personal letters addressed to him from American Congressmen who were good friends of Mr. Whitlock. And I felt it would be a shame not to deliver them.

But the young lady who received the visitors asked me what I wanted to see him about. I replied, "On business." She said, "He is very busy." I asked, "Is he too busy to attend to business?" "Well," she answered, "I don't believe he could see you."

I responded, "Say, my young lady, I am an American citizen, a stranger in a strange land. I am among a people who are not particularly friendly, as I have already learned. They are the bosses over here. I am expecting to be about in this country somewhat, and I feel I have a right to be known by the American Minister. If anything happens to me, I want him to be able to identify me. Our diplomatic officers are sent here by the United States, paid by the people, to look after our interests, and our traveling citizens, and then when we come here the secretary says he cannot see us. Why is it?"

This evidently made some impression, for she said finally, "Well, if you will come back in the afternoon, I suppose you can see him."

I went away then, saying, "I certainly expect to see him." In the afternoon I did. I found Mr. Whitlock the most genial man in the world. He had plenty of time to be civil and obliging and to chat a while, although I did not abuse the privilege. I told him I wanted him to know me, and I delivered the letters. As I left he stamped my passport and said, "Come in again when you can, Mr. Benson." I had occasion to do so—before long.