II.
The door was pushed open with much force, and one of the soldiers marched into the room, knocked his heels together, stood very stiff and still, then said, with a very clear but yet rather sad voice,
"Private Rothmann has been taken very ill."
"Hulloo!" thought Tom, "that is a funny name for a German; it sounds like mine."
Corporal Kutchke ordered the private to run and inform the army surgeon, while he himself went up stairs to learn what he could. Rothmann was very pale and weak. The heat of the day had affected him on the march, and he was now tossing about in a feverish manner. The surgeon came and said that Rothmann was wholly unfit to march, and must be left behind. He was at once taken to the hospital. As soon as Rothmann was gone, Tom Rodman went up to help the corporal about getting bedding for his men. He found Kutchke seated on a drum rubbing his nose with a drum-stick.
"Million Schock Donnerwetter!" said Kutchke. "What will my Captain say? I shall be blamed because he fell ill. And it's not my fault. It's the fault of all the people along the road, who keep giving the soldiers cigars and sausage, and make them useless for hard work."