published in the press about Hugo's damning patriotism
and hurrahing for the Browns--it was fearfully exaggerated--his old
father and mother shut themselves up in the house and would not show
their faces for shame. But his sweetheart, however much her parents
stormed, refused to renounce him. She held her head high and said that
the more they abused him the more she loved him, and she knew he could
do nothing wrong."

"Hugo was not a patriot. It takes red blood to make a patriot!" said
Peterkin. In the pride of heroism and prestige, he was becoming an
oracular enunciator of commonplaces from the lips of his superiors.

"The absence of any word from the front only increases the suspense of
the people. They do not know whether their sons and brothers and
husbands are living or dead," continued the judge's son.

"Up to a week ago they let us write," said Pilzer, "though they wouldn't
let us say anything except that we were well."

"That was because it might give information to the enemy," said
Peterkin.

"As if I didn't know that!" grumbled Pilzer. "The enemy seems to be
always ready for us, anyway," he added.

"The chief of staff stopped the letters because he said that mothers who
received none took it for granted that their sons were dead," explained
the judge's son. "Besides, he asserts that casualties are not heavy and
asks for patience in the name of patriotism."

"The--!" exclaimed Pilzer, referring to Westerling. He who had set out
to be an officers' favorite had become bitter against all officers, high
and low.

Peterkin was speechlessly aghast. The others said nothing. They were
used to Pilzer's oaths and obscenity, with a growing inclination to
profanity on their own part. Besides, they rather agreed with his view
of the chief of staff.

"Did you see many dead and wounded?" asked a very tired voice, that of
one of the older reservists who was emaciated, with a complexion like
blue mould.

"How can I tell you what I saw? Ought I to tell you?"

"When you've had to wipe a piece of brains out of your eye, as I
have--it was warm and jelly-like," said Pilzer, "you ain't as squeamish
as Hugo Mallin. I wonder they don't give him a bronze cross!"

"Bronze crosses are given for bravery in action," said Peterkin in his
new-fashioned parrot way since he had become great. "You should not do
anything to affect the spirit of corps."

"The boy wonder from the butler's pantry! Our dear, natty little
buttons! Bul