will he shared out half a pound of synthetic honey equally among us.
★★
To-day is wonderfully good. The mail has come, and almost every man has a couple of letters.
Kropp pulls out one. “Kantorek sends you all his best wishes.”
We laugh. Müller throws his cigarette away and says: “I wish he was here.”
Kantorek had been our schoolmaster, an active little man in a grey tail-coat, with a face like a shrew-mouse. He was about the same size as Corporal Himmelstoss, the “Terror of Klosterberg.” It is very queer that the unhappiness of the world is so often brought on by small men. They are so much more energetic and uncompromising than the big fellows. I have always taken good care to keep out of sections with small company commanders. They are mostly confounded little martinets.
During drill-time Kantorek gave us long lectures until the whole of our class went under his shepherding to the District Commandant and volunteered. I can see him now, as he used to glare at us through his spectacles and say in a moving voice: “Won’t you join up, Comrades?”
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