rses, with
shining coats and strong bones, even if some of them did not reach the
height of "Peiho," "Woo," and "Kwangsue," but were, strictly speaking,
but ponies. Each one of the horses had its special claim on the
affections of this man who now sat chatting with his "Vice" at the
table.

Just then Frau Roth entered, carrying a tray neatly covered with a
snowy napkin, on which stood a bottle of fragrant Moselle wine, three
glasses, and a narrow box of cigars.

"The devil! You're living high, Roth! I wish I had such easy times
myself. What's up?" said Schmitz, in amazement.

"I have my birthday anniversary but once a year," remarked Roth,
sententiously, "and on such occasions it's worth while spending
something."

His wife poured the wine into the green "Roemer,"[11] and each of the
three raised a glass of wine whose delicious, flower-like perfume and
whose straw-yellow color told them that this noble grape-juice had
been distilled by the sun on one of the favored hills rising steeply
along the banks of the upper Moselle. Then they cried, "Prosit" and
clinked, so that the fine glass emitted a bell-like sound. Then they
sipped with the air of connoisseurs. The little scene was an
unconscious imitation of similar ones they had often noticed the
officers of the garrison enact with a certain solemnity. In
wine-growing countries they enshroud with a time-honored ceremonial
the ceremony of drinking wine of quality.

[11] "Roemer," the name of prettily shaped glasses, usually of
amber or emerald hue, in which Rhine and Moselle wines are
served.--TR.

The two men lit their cigars, each bearing the well-known narrow band
of a famous importing firm, and next they refilled their glasses. They
had another hour until the time for the evening stable service should
come, and there was nothing to do meanwhile, for First Lieutenant
Specht, temporarily in command of the reserve squadron, never appeared
during the afternoon service. Hence, there would be no disturbance.

"Will you be off on leave at Christmas?" asked Roth of his friend.

"Don't know yet," Schmitz replied, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I
should like to, for I haven't been outside this dirty hole of a town
for two years; but it is hardly worth my while to undertake such a
long trip for the few days, for I don't suppose I should get more than
a week off, and it takes me forty-eight hours to reach my home--it's
at the other end of the world, you know