For the non-commissioned officers generally, however, and especially for Roth, there was profit connected with the annual recall of the reserves; for it meant increased pay, and it meant a great increase in pickings of every kind. Roth had been detailed as sergeant-major for the first reserve squadron, and he was glad of it. There were among these reserves a number of men he knew to be “flush” of money, and whom he understood how to handle. There were also some “one year’s men,” who, nearly all of them, had open hands and well-filled pockets. By shutting an eye, or maybe both sometimes, thus easing the severe discipline for them, he was sure, at the end of their brief term of supplementary service, to have the larger portion of their “gold foxes” in his own pocket. Roth was, therefore, with such prospects before him, in the best of spirits. He was likewise in a confidential mood. Schmitz was “foddermaster” of the fourth squadron and detailed to the reserve squadron for the time being. He was a very competent man. Whoever wished to convince himself of that needed but to visit the horses belonging to his squadron. He would have seen them with silky coat, round in limb, and full of dash and life, standing above their fetlocks in the clean, shining straw. His stable, too, was always a model of neatness and cleanliness. Even the walls were always well whitewashed and the grated windows shining. Sergeant Schmitz, in fact, made a labor of love of his duties. When he went down the main aisle of his big stable, and then turned and walked between the rows of his smooth-coated darlings, it was amusing to see these animals, all of them at once recognizing his step, his voice, his touch; how they turned their heads around, whinnying and glancing affectionately at him if he called to one or the other of his favorites. There was, for instance, Clairette, a charming little roan, which followed him like a dog, and with her nostrils forever sniffed at his pockets for sugar, and then rose on her hind legs or lifted her left foreleg beggar-fashion. There was the “Ahnfrau,” a dainty little horse, though old as the hills, with a coat black as sloes, and which because of long faithful service and because of the shrewd wisdom that comes with age, was in favor with the whole regiment and was often fed some sweet morsel. The special pride of the foddermaster, however, was the “twelve Chinamen.” They had been bought in China, had then gone through the campaign against the Boxers, had had their share in the capture of Peking, and had then, at the close of the Far Asiatic War, been enrolled in the regiment. They were fine, powerful horses, with shining coats and strong bones, even if some of them did not reach the height of “Peiho,” “Woo,” and “Kwangsue,” but were, strictly speaking, but ponies. Each one of the horses had its special claim on the affections of this man who now sat chatting with his “Vice” at the table.