The rumour has materialized. Himmelstoss has come. He appeared yesterday; we’ve already heard the well-known voice. He seems to have overdone it with a couple of young recruits on the ploughed field at home, and unknown to him the son of the local magistrate was watching. That cooked his goose.
He will meet some surprises here. Tjaden has been meditating for hours what to say to him. Haie gazes thoughtfully at his great paws and winks at me. The thrashing was the high-water mark of his life. He tells me he often dreams of it. Kropp and Müller are amusing themselves. From somewhere or other, probably the pioneer-cook-house, Kropp has bagged for himself a mess-tin full of beans. Müller squints hungrily into it but checks himself and says: “Albert, what would you do if it were suddenly peace time again?”
“There won’t be any civil life,” says Albert bluntly.
“Well, but if—” persists Müller, “what would you do?”
“Clear out of this!” growls Kropp.
“Of course. And then what?”
“Get drunk,” says Albert.
“Don’t talk rot, I mean seriously———”
“So do I,” says Kropp, “what else should a man do?”
76
