The lad is utterly wretched, though Studmann, strangely moved. Perhaps he would like to tell us about his trouble or ask our help, but he can’t get himself to do so. If only Prackwitz wouldn’t …
But the white-haired choleric Prackwitz could no longer restrain himself. “It’s rotten, Pagel,” he shouted, “the way you’re behaving with that money. You mustn’t treat money like that.”
Studmann got the impression that Pagel was pleased with this outburst, although he did not show it.
“If I may be permitted to ask a question, Herr Rittmeister,” said the young man, mouthing the words with exaggerated politeness, “how
“How?” screamed the Rittmeister, the veins in his forehead swelling and his face almost purple with fury. “How does one treat money? In a proper manner, Second Lieutenant Pagel! Properly, conscientiously—as one ought to, you understand? You don’t carry it about loose in your pocket, you put it in a wallet …”
“There’s too much of it, Herr Rittmeister,” said Pagel apologetically. “No wallet would be large enough.”
“One doesn’t carry so much money about with one,” shouted the Rittmeister at white heat. Already people were looking at them from the adjoining table. “It isn’t right. It isn’t done.”
“Why not?” asked Pagel like an obedient inquiring pupil.
Studmann bit his lips so as not to burst out laughing. Von Prackwitz, however, had too little humor to understand that his leg was being pulled.
“As soon as I’ve drunk my wine I’ll try and get rid of the stuff as quickly as possible,” said Pagel apologetically. He drank, an amused boyish smile spreading over his face. He looked very much as he did on his first day in Courland, so Studmann thought—no trace of a resemblance to Reichsfreiherr Baron von Bergen. Taking hold of the packet of money, Pagel hesitated and then impulsively held it out to the Rittmeister. “Or would you like it, sir?”
Rittmeister Joachim von Prackwitz started out of his chair, his face flushing crimson. It was an insult, a deliberate insult, all the more heinous in that it came from a former second lieutenant. An officer, and particularly a Rittmeister von Prackwitz, may leave the Service, but he still retains his old conceptions and views. Studmann and Prackwitz were good friends, but the friendship originated at a time when one was a captain and the other a lieutenant; and it continued on that basis. If the first lieutenant wished to criticize the captain he had to do so while carefully observing the formalities proper between a superior officer and his subordinate. Pagel, however, was not even a friend of von Prackwitz; he had said something very unpleasant, even insulting, to his face, without preparation and without observance of the proper forms. Rittmeister von Prackwitz therefore exploded. Something dreadful might have resulted had not von Studmann laid a firm hand on the Rittmeister’s shoulder and forced him back into his chair. “He’s stupidly drunk,” he said in low tones. And sharply, to Pagel, “Apologize at once!”
The boyish smile faded slowly. Pagel looked thoughtfully at the angry Rittmeister, as if he were not quite clear as to what had happened, then at the parcel of money in his hand. His face darkened. Putting the money back again on the table near him, he reached for his glass and drank hastily.
“Apologize?” he said sullenly. “Who attaches any importance nowadays to such tomfoolery?”
“I do, Herr Pagel,” cried the Rittmeister, still very angry. “
“Let him alone, Prackwitz,” suggested von Studmann. “He’s overwrought, he’s drunk, and perhaps he intends to do something vicious.”
“I’m not interested,” cried the Rittmeister furiously. “I’ll let him alone with the greatest pleasure.”
Pagel glanced quickly at Studmann but made no reply.
Studmann bent across the table and said in a friendly way: “If you were to offer me the money, Pagel, I’d accept it.”
The Rittmeister made a gesture of extreme astonishment. Pagel, however, hastily reached for the packet of money and drew it nearer.
“I’m not going to take it away from you,” said Studmann, rather mockingly.
Pagel turned red, ashamed of himself. “What would you do with it?” he asked sullenly.
“Keep it for you—till you felt better.”
“That’s not necessary. I don’t need money anymore.”
“Exactly what I supposed,” agreed the Oberleutnant calmly. “How was it that you, too, suffered shipwreck six hours ago, Pagel?” he inquired with an exaggerated indifference.
This time the young man went completely crimson. With an almost painful slowness the flush, starting from his cheeks, spread over his whole face. It crept under the high and creased collar of his tunic, and went up into the roots of his hair. Suddenly one could see how very young he was, how terribly he suffered under his embarrassment. Even the angry Rittmeister looked at him with new eyes. Pagel, however, annoyed at his very obvious confusion, asked defiantly: “Who told you that I had suffered shipwreck, Herr von Studmann?”
“I understood you so, Pagel.”
“Then you’ve misunderstood me. I—” But Pagel broke off, dissatisfied with himself, his blush having betrayed him completely.
“Of course you’re not doing well, Pagel,” said von Studmann mildly. “We can see that, the Rittmeister as well as myself. You’re not an habitual drunkard. You’re drinking for a definite reason, because something’s gone wrong, because—oh, you understand me quite well, Pagel.”
Pagel tilted his wineglass. His bearing was less tense, but he made no reply.
“Why don’t you want us to help you?” Studmann asked. “I let the Rittmeister help me this afternoon without any hesitation. I, too, had a very unpleasant upset.…” He smiled at the remembrance of his fall. He had no actual recollection of it, but Prackwitz had described, very caustically, how he had rolled downstairs in the hotel. Studmann was clear that his case was different from Pagel’s—albeit only physically.
“Perhaps we could advise you,” he continued persuasively. “It would be better still if we could help you in a practical way. When we were advancing on Tetelmunde you fell down with the machine gun and you didn’t hesitate for a moment to accept my help. Why can’t what held good in Courland hold good also in Berlin?”
“Because,” said Pagel morosely, “we were fighting for a cause. Today everybody fights for himself—and against everybody else.”
“Once a comrade always a comrade,” said von Studmann. “You remember, Pagel, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.” Pagel bent his head as if he were deliberating, watched expectantly by the other two. Then he lifted his head. “I could say a good deal against it,” he said with his clumsy yet distinct articulation. “But I don’t want to. I’m terribly tired. Could I meet you somewhere tomorrow morning?”
In a few words the two friends reached an understanding. “We are leaving Schlesische Bahnhof for Ostade shortly after eight tomorrow morning,” said von Studmann.
“Good,” said Pagel. “I’ll also be at the station, perhaps.”
He stared into space as if everything had been settled. He put no questions: it did not seem to interest him why they were leaving, where they were going, or what was to happen.
The Rittmeister shrugged his shoulders, dissatisfied with this half-promise. But Studmann persisted. “That’s something, Pagel. But not entirely what we would like. You’ve something on your mind; you spoke just now about getting rid of your money.”
“Affairs with women,” muttered the Rittmeister.
“It’ll soon be midnight. Between now and tomorrow morning at eight o’clock you’ve got something on hand, Pagel, the result of which appears so uncertain that you can’t give us a firm promise and also don’t want us with you.”
“Wretched women,” muttered the Rittmeister.
“I differ from Prackwitz,” said Studmann, noticing that Pagel was about to reply. “I don’t believe that some dubious affair with a woman is behind it. You’re not the kind of man for that.” Pagel lowered his head, but the Rittmeister snorted. “I should be grateful, we should be grateful, if you would allow us to spend the next few hours with you.”
“It’s nothing special,” said Pagel, now won over by the other’s tactful insistence. “I only want to make a test.”
The former lieutenant smiled. “A challenge to Fate, Pagel?” he said. “The former Second Lieutenant Pagel submits to God’s judgment! Oh, how enviably young you still are!”
“I don’t consider myself so enviable,” growled Pagel.
