his long thin arms brought substantial
help.

But the "old gang" also received reinforcements. The struggle became
wilder and wilder, and the combatants grappled with each other more and
more furiously. The shouts had ceased, and one noticed now only the
gasps of the fighters, the grinding of their teeth, the dull sound of
blows, and now and then a grim oath.

Vogt was bleeding from a wound in his brow, in return for which he had
bitten his opponent in the hand. But now the heavy buckle of a belt
caught him full in the face. Sparks flew before his eyes, he reeled
from the force of the blow, and, like an infuriated animal, his only
desire was to revenge himself, to hit out and to kill his enemy. A
newly polished sword lay near him, where it had fallen from the table.
He seized it and struck and thrust with it in blind fury.

The recruits shrieked as they saw this development, but no one had the
courage to seize the arms of the furious man.

Then an inspiration came to one of them.

"The sergeant-major!" he yelled at the door.

The struggling _melee_ dispersed in a twinkling, the "old gang"
vanished from Room IX., and only a great cloud of dust betrayed what
had taken place.

The sergeant-major of course did not appear. But it was just as well;
blood poured down Vogt's face, and when Klitzing awakened from his
torpor he was seized with a kind of convulsive attack. He threw himself
down, weeping and shrieking before his brave comrade, embracing his
knees, and no talking could soothe him.

The other recruits stood frightened and helpless around the two. The
brewer sat down on his stool to get his breath, and wiped the
perspiration off his face.

Listing, the quondam tramp, was the most sensible. On the roads there
is occasionally a fight or an accident, therefore one must know how to
render assistance. He ran to the water-tap, and returned with a bowl of
fresh water. He washed the wounded man's face, and then put quite a
respectable bandage round Vogt's head. It is true that the folds were a
little thick, as two towels were applied, and they looked almost like a
turban, but they stopped the bleeding and held together.

The tattoo sounded over the courtyard.

It was high time to get ready for bed. The corporal in charge came into
the room and told them to be quick. Suddenly he noticed the wounded
man.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

Listing lied fluently: "He fell down the dormitory stairs, sir, just a
lit