us drilling under which all groaned, and the object of which no
one could ever pretend to understand. Even the dullest--to say nothing
of Vogt with his simple, sound common-sense--could see that the
gun-practice here in the practice-camp was the most important part of
the whole training. What the men had already learnt was now found out
practically. But where did the parade-marching and all the other
display drill come in?

Here was Klitzing, who in the garrison had been looked on as the most
feeble soldier of the lot, now all at once distinguishing himself! Vogt
shook his head as he thought it over.

He often felt glad that at any rate he was an artilleryman, for others
had a much worse time of it. A few days earlier an infantry regiment
had moved into the neighbouring barracks; and looking through the
palings of their parade-ground they could see the battalions
exercising.

There was a yellow, dried-up looking major who was never, never
satisfied. He would keep his battalion at it in the sun till past noon;
and then after a short pause for refreshment the same cruel business
would begin all over again. The devil! How could a couple of hundred
men be as symmetrical as a machine?

The artillery-drivers had climbed on to the fence. They were polishing
their curbs and chains, and laughed at the spectacle before them. But
to Vogt it did not seem amusing. What was the use of making those two
hundred men do such childish things there on the parade-ground? Would
they ever march into battle like that? He thought of how those dummies
had all been riddled by the bullets when a single shrapnel burst in
front of them. Why, it would be sheer madness! They would have to
crawl, to run, to jump--then to crawl again! That wasn't what they were
doing when every morning on the parade-ground one heard a continual
tack--tack--tack--tack, as if a thousand telegraph clerks were hard at
work. What was the good of all this senseless show, which only
aggravated the men?

Their comrades of the infantry looked very far from cheerful, and
darted glances full of suppressed hatred at the yellow-faced major. And
when, dead-tired, they had finished the drill, and were putting away
their guns in the corner, they would curse the very uniform they wore
as if it had been a strait-waistcoat.

Certainly it was not necessary to agree in everything with a
social-democrat like Weise; but there was no doubt what-ever that he
was perfectly right about so