They shook hands warmly, and it seemed to Vogt that they looked at each other as if there were some private understanding between them. Curious for an explanation, he inquired, "Who's that? He's an old hand, isn't he?" Weise replied: "Oh, he's an old friend of mine; Wolf is his name. Yes, he has served since last autumn." He had been speaking quite gravely; but quickly regained his cheerful manner, and soon after left the room. Vogt put his civilian clothes into his box and snapped the padlock with a click. With that he felt that the last link that had bound him to the old life was broken. He was a soldier now. He looked round the room that was to be his home for two years: the floor of bare boards; the grey-plastered walls, hidden for the most part by the rows of lockers, and their only decoration a portrait of the King over the door and two unframed battle pictures fastened up with tin-tacks. These had evidently been torn out of a newspaper. Two large tables surrounded by stools stood in the middle of the room; and at one of the two windows, which were bare except for their striped roller-blinds, a smaller table was placed with a common chair before it, the seat assigned to the corporal in charge of the room. The others now began to come up from the court-yard. They were fifteen, all told; but as there were sixteen cupboards in the room, one man must be still to come. Most of them had to finish packing their civilian clothes; when that was done they sat down in the darkening room, tired and silent, hardly even caring to make acquaintance with one another. The fat brewer had placed himself at the table next to Vogt and Weise. He was overcome with heat, and said he would rather hang himself than endure this horrible drudgery for two whole years. But Weise chaffed him in his genial way: "How do you know you could find a tough enough rope, brewer? you're no light weight!" And presently the brewer grew less melancholy; now that he could sit down things did not look so formidable, and he only groaned pathetically: "Oh, if I'd only a mug of beer--just one!" At last Weise suggested lighting up. The two lamps gave but a scanty light; yet even that helped to dispel the gloomy thoughts of the men. And soon the little corporal appeared, with two of the "old gang" carrying loaves of bread, of which every man received one. It tasted very good, this hard black bread, to which each recruit had some little relish of his own to add--butter, or dripping, or perhaps a sausage. Only one sat regarding his dry loaf disconsolately: Klitzing, a pale, spare young fellow with hollow cheeks, whose uniform was a world too wide for him. Vogt, who sat beside him, cut a big piece from his smoked sausage and pushed it to his neighbour: "There, comrade, let's go shares!" Klitzing at first declined; but at last he took it, and thanked Vogt shyly. "Why didn't you pack up your clothes?" asked the latter.