hussars!”
“Who?”
“Those convicts. That’s what they call themselves. Since they arrived she won’t let me rest! ‘Horst-Heinz, I won’t tolerate it, convicts in our dear Neulohe! Whenever I look out of the window I see them; and they are all murderers and thieves, and now they’re singing, too—murderers shouldn’t be allowed to sing.’ ”
“So far as I’ve heard, the songs they sing are quite clean.”
“That’s what I told her, Herr von Studmann! My very words! They even sing ‘Sitting at my parents’ grave,’ I told her. But no, she won’t hear of murderers singing. Murderers must repent for the rest of their lives, she thinks.”
“There aren’t any murderers among them!” Studmann spoke with a trace of irritation, for he noticed that this chatter was intended to lead up to something more serious. “They are thieves and swindlers, all with relatively short sentences and good-conduct marks.”
“My very words, Herr von Studmann, exactly what I told my wife. But you try telling a woman something when she’s got something else in her head! ‘Why are they in the penitentiary if they aren’t murderers?’ she says. ‘There are ordinary prisons for thieves.’ I can’t explain the whole penal code to the woman!”
“So what’s to be done?” asked Studmann. “What does Frau von Teschow want?”
“Then there’s the matter of our washhouse,” continued the Geheimrat. “Well, my wife placed it at your disposal for the cooking. But now she doesn’t want to. You don’t know how these things are, you bachelors. She’s moaning about her beautiful copper in which our washing’s usually boiled, not the food for your lot. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way, of course they are not
“The chickens certainly didn’t know this morning that the convicts were coming,” said Studmann with a smile.
“You’re right there! Ha-ha-ha!” The old man slapped his hand resoundingly on the desk. “I must tell that to my wife. That’ll put her back up! Marvelous! The chickens didn’t know! My wife has a weak spot for you, Herr von Studmann—well, this’ll cure her. Really excellent!”
Studmann was extremely annoyed at his mistake. The old man, with all his parade of honesty, was such a big scoundrel, exploiting every slip ruthlessly—well, one simply had to be more careful than ever. And never lose patience, for that was all he desired. “We don’t want our men to be a burden to your wife,” he said politely. “We’ll do what we can. We’ll give up the washhouse. We can set up a kitchen somewhere else, in the fodder room or in the Villa—I’ll see. Amanda shall be released. I’ll take Frau Hartig to help Fraulein Kowalewski.”
“Sophie?” cried the old man in astonishment. “Didn’t you know? Well, you do know a lot about your own business! Sophie was standing in the cellar passage, sobbing out that your warder had insulted her, she wasn’t going to work any more. Of course, I tried to calm her down, but you know what these girls are …”
“Thanks for trying to calm her down, Herr Geheimrat,” said Studmann a little sharply. “I’ll also find a substitute for Sophie. I shall forbid singing in the barracks. That would dispose of every objection, wouldn’t it?”
“That’s nice of you,” cried the old man, beaming. “It’s a pleasure to deal with you. If it had been my son-in- law, there would have been a fine row. But,” the Geheimrat shook his head sadly, “unfortunately that isn’t all, Herr von Studmann. When my wife sits at the window and sees these convicts’ uniforms, it upsets her. She’s an old woman; I must be considerate with her.”
“Unfortunately I am not allowed to dress the men differently,” said Studmann. “Otherwise I would have done that, too, you may be sure. But the Manor has four fronts—couldn’t your wife choose a window somewhere else?”
“My dear Herr von Studmann,” replied the Geheimrat, “my wife has sat at her window for, let’s say, roughly fifty years. You really can’t expect her to change in her old days just because you’ve imported convicts into Neulohe!”
“What do you want us to do?” asked Studmann.
“Why, Herr von Studmann,” said the old Geheimrat, beaming, “send the men back to where they belong—to the prison! Today, if possible!”
“What about the harvest?” cried Studmann, horrified.
The Geheimrat smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
“You don’t ask this seriously, do you?” inquired Studmann incredulously.
“My dear sir!” said the Geheimrat rudely, “you don’t think I’d spend half an hour of my lunch time chatting with you for the fun of it, do you? The men are to leave Neulohe, and today!” He had risen from his chair and was regarding Studmann with an angry gleam. But, since a battle seemed imminent, the other was calm.
“Herr Geheimrat,” he said, “your objections come too late. You knew two weeks ago of our intention to bring a prison gang here. You raised no protest. On the contrary, you placed your washhouse and your poultry maid at our disposal. By doing so you expressed your agreement.”
“Look at him!” mocked the Geheimrat. “The little vest-pocket lawyer! But if you are clever, I can be clever, too. According to clause twenty-one of the contract of lease, the lessee has to remove at once any disturbance of the lessor’s right of residence. Your criminals are a disturbance of the right of residence. Immediately this disturbance was apparent I asked for redress. Well, let’s have your redress. Out with the men!”
“We refuse! We shall prove that a barracks occupied by Polish reapers with their wives and children is much more disturbing than convicts subject to strict discipline. We shall prove further—”
“In court, eh?” said the Geheimrat contemptuously. “Just go to court, my clever fellow! Any appeal to law dissolves the lease. Clause seventeen of the contract. Go on, appeal—I’ll be glad to take over the harvest.”
Studmann mopped his brow. Poor Prackwitz. If only he were here! But he’d no notion, and never would have. The old man wanted everything. He must have read the letters with the offers made by the corn dealers. Pagel was much too unobservant, too trusting. The old man was greedy—he not only wanted to clear out his son-in-law, he wanted the harvest as well. One must think of a way out.
“Well, Herr von Studmann?” said the old man with satisfaction. “Farming is different from the hotel business, eh? Why do you want to worry yourself here? My son-in-law certainly gives you no thanks for it. Send the men away and, if you’re sensible, go away yourself. This place is a burst balloon; even you won’t put any air into it.”
Studmann stood at the office window. “A moment,” he said, looking over at the barracks. Out of the door came Pagel; one, two, three convicts, then a warder. They went off, disappearing down the drive, probably to the toolshed.… All that could be seen from the Manor. There was no way out. Of course, he thought, it’s me he really wants out of the way. He’d make easy work of Prackwitz. Prackwitz would just throw the whole thing up and give him the harvest.… No, no.
A thought came to him which he immediately rejected. He looked more sharply at the barracks. Its pointed red gable faced the staff-house and the Manor. In the gable was a door and a fanlight; the two long sides were hidden by lilac and guelder-rose bushes. No, the idea was not bad; it was
He turned round abruptly. “The lessor raises four objections,” he said. “First, Amanda.”
“Right,” assented the Geheimrat, looking pleased.
“Amanda will be released. Suit you?”
“Right.” The old man grinned.
“The use of the washhouse will be given up.”
“Good!” laughed the old man.
“There’ll be no more singing.”
“Fine, fine. But with all your cunning you won’t fill the fourth hollow tooth, Studmann, my lad.”
“I am not a dentist. Fourth objection: The men can be seen from the Manor.”
“Right,” grinned Herr von Teschow.
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing else!” laughed the old man.
“It shall bother you no longer.” Herr von Studmann was unable to prevent a note of triumph creeping into his voice.
“How do you mean?” The old man was taken aback. “Are you going to …”
“Going to what?”
The old man mused to himself. “Transfer the barracks? Can’t be done. Quarter the men elsewhere? Can’t be done, either, since their quarters must be secure. What else?”
