Part 12 (2/2)

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 a.s.sistance. 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 little while ago, when the wind had blown out the lamp.”

”Indeed!” said the officer in charge. ”Is he badly hurt?”

”No, sir,” answered Vogt.

”Then off to bed!”

Vogt and Klitzing were the last to leave Room IX. Klitzing went silently along by his wounded comrade and looked at him timidly.

”Does it hurt, Franz?” he asked on the stairs.

Vogt began hesitatingly: ”Well, you know----” but then when he saw his friend's sad eyes he continued: ”Oh, no; it's not a bit bad.”

Tears stood in the clerk's eyes.

”Franz, what a dear good fellow you are!” he said softly. ”I don't know how I can thank you; but never doubt that I _shall_ thank you some time.”

In the bedroom Listing whispered to him that the ”old gang” would beware of beginning it again. Wolf had told them that he should at once report them if they did, and he was known to keep his word in such matters.

When the two friends were in bed, the tall man came round to their corner.

”How are you?” he asked Vogt.

”All right, thanks,” he answered.

”Glad to hear it.”

He stretched out his hand to the recruit, and the two men exchanged a hearty grip.

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