e been in the war of Siebenzig; for,
begomme, he is tough enough. Ah, yes, Jacob, he is certainly a veteran.
I have broken my teeth over his Iron Cross." But if he had been where I
have been, he would know that it is not good jesting about the Iron
Cross.

Last night the young Herr, he did not come home for supper at all. But
instead of him there came an Officier clanging spurs and twisting at
seven hairs upon his upper lip. The bracing-board on his back was tight
as a drum. The corners stretched the cloth of his uniform till they
nearly cut through.

He was but a boy, and his shoulder-straps were not ten days old; but old
Jacob Oertler's heels came together with a click that would have been
loud, but that he wore waiter's slippers instead of the field-shoes of
the soldier.

The Officier looked at me, for I stood at attention.

"Soldier?" said he. And he spoke sharply, as all the babe-officers
strive to do.

I bowed, but my bow was not that of the Oberkellner of the Prinz Karl
that I am now.

"Of the war?" he asked again.

"Of three wars!" I answered, standing up straight that he might see the
Iron Cross I wear under my dress-coat, which the Emperor set there.

"Name and regiment?" he said quickly, for he had learned the way of it,
and was pleased that I called him Hauptmann.

"Jacob Oertler, formerly of the Berlin Husaren, and after of the
Intelligence Department."

"So," he said, "you speak French, then?"

"Sir," said I, "I was twenty years in France. I was born in Elsass. I
was also in Paris during the siege."

Thus we might have talked for long enough, but suddenly his face
darkened and he lifted his eyes from the Cross. He had remembered his
message.

"Does the tall English Herr live here, who goes to Professor Mueller's
each day in the Anlage? Is he at this time within? I have a cartel for
him."

Then I told him that the English Herr was no Schlaeger-player, though
like the lion for bravery in fighting, as my brother had been witness.

"But what is the cause of quarrel?" I asked.

"The cause," he said, "is only that particular great donkey, Hellmuth.
He came swaggering to-night along the New Neckar-Bridge as full of beer
as the Heidelberg tun is empty of it. He met your Herr under the lamps
where there were many students of the corps. Now, Hellmuth is a beast of
the Rhine corps, so he thought he might gain some cheap glory by pushing
rudely against the tall Englander as he passed.

"'Pardon