LET us go out of the fog, John, out of the filmy persistent drizzle on the streets of Stockholm, let us put down the collars
of our raincoats, take off our hats and sit in the newspapers office.
Let us sit among the telegramsclickety-clickthe kaisers crown goes into the gutter and the Hohenzollern
throne of a thousand years falls to pieces a one-hoss shay.
It is a fog night out and the umbrellas are up and the collars of the raincoatsand all the steamboats up and down the
Baltic sea have their lights out and the wheelsmen sober.
Here the telegrams comeone king goes and anotherbutter is costly: there is no butter to buy for our bread in
Stockholmand a little patty of butter costs more than all the crowns of Germany.
Let us go out in the fog, John, let us roll up our raincoat collars and go on the streets where men are sneering at the