"I'm well, sir, thank God. And, beg pardon, sir, but how are you?" Reimers looked surprised. "I'm quite well, of course. Why should I not be?" "Well, sir, you had sick-leave last year----?" "Ah, yes, that's all gone, Schumann; all gone--not a trace of it left." "I'm delighted to hear it, sir," said the sergeant-major; "and, if you will excuse me, sir," he went on somewhat hesitatingly, "I'm glad, very glad, you've come back to the sixth, especially after you've fought for the Boers. I should like to go out there myself, you know, sir." "Oh, no, Schumann," said Reimers, "you must not think of that. I don't believe you would like it. There's another side to that affair. Stay contentedly here. This is the place for you. Besides, the poor devils have next to no artillery left." Lieutenant Reimers took Schumann's familiarity in good part. He recognised that it was the strong love of justice which made him espouse the cause of the weak. "No, Schumann," he went on: "that is no place for you. Wait; wait quietly here. Mark my words! There will be work enough! The lessons learnt over there in China, too, will have to be worked out here, and for that we shall want our best men. You will be wanted. If only we had more like you!" Reimers emphasised the last words, and heartily wrung the sergeant-major's hand. Then he put on his helmet again and strode out of the room; a man, indeed, over whom the soldier heart of Schumann rejoiced. One could have confidence in a man like that, with his quick penetrating glance and his easy, erect carriage. He was a handsome fellow too, fair-haired and of open countenance, only just a trifle thin from his campaigning experiences. Not one of those young puppies, like some of the officers, who caused the sergeant-major, notwithstanding his due respect for his superiors, to shake his head sadly at times. Schumann seated himself at his table. But despite all his efforts he could not concentrate his attention on the recruiting papers. The words of Reimers haunted him: that he, Schumann, would be wanted. That was the second time the same thing had been said to him this very day. There must be something in it. He felt as though he had a bad conscience. But all day long he was busy, and it was only towards evening, when work was nearly done, that he had time to think. He left what he could for the next day, and went into his own quarters at the end of the corridor. Here he would earnestly think it out, whether he would not remain for a few more years with the battery. Two families were quartered at the end of the corridor, that of Sergeant-major Schumann and that of the deputy sergeant-major, Heppner; each had a bedroom, sitting-room, and kitchen, and they shared the entrance-hall between them. As Schumann entered he could hear through the door the rough, blustering voice of Heppner.