there were sixteen cupboards in the room, one man must
be still to come. Most of them had to finish packing their civilian
clothes; when that was done they sat down in the darkening room, tired
and silent, hardly even caring to make acquaintance with one another.

The fat brewer had placed himself at the table next to Vogt and Weise.
He was overcome with heat, and said he would rather hang himself than
endure this horrible drudgery for two whole years. But Weise chaffed
him in his genial way: "How do you know you could find a tough enough
rope, brewer? you're no light weight!" And presently the brewer grew
less melancholy; now that he could sit down things did not look so
formidable, and he only groaned pathetically: "Oh, if I'd only a mug of
beer--just one!"

At last Weise suggested lighting up. The two lamps gave but a scanty
light; yet even that helped to dispel the gloomy thoughts of the men.
And soon the little corporal appeared, with two of the "old gang"
carrying loaves of bread, of which every man received one.

It tasted very good, this hard black bread, to which each recruit had
some little relish of his own to add--butter, or dripping, or perhaps a
sausage. Only one sat regarding his dry loaf disconsolately: Klitzing,
a pale, spare young fellow with hollow cheeks, whose uniform was a
world too wide for him. Vogt, who sat beside him, cut a big piece from
his smoked sausage and pushed it to his neighbour: "There, comrade,
let's go shares!"

Klitzing at first declined; but at last he took it, and thanked Vogt
shyly.

"Why didn't you pack up your clothes?" asked the latter.

"I have no friends," replied Klitzing, "and I only came out of hospital
on Monday."

"Poor fellow! all the more reason for you to eat. What were you?"

"A clerk."

"Well, we'll stick together, and you'll get along all right," said Vogt
kindly. This pale clerk attracted him more than did Weise. Klitzing had
frank honest eyes; one could not but feel sorry for his pallor and
languor; how was he going to stand the hard work?

The men were still sitting over their meal when the little corporal
brought in another recruit, a tall overgrown lad with a pink and white
boyish face, apparently several years younger than the rest. The
corporal spoke less gruffly to him, and showed him his locker with
something like politeness. Apparently there was something special about
this Frielinghausen, as he was called; even the uniform he wore was
rath