The soldier looked dubious, and muttered that he did not know.
Bob's anger was swiftly rising at this brutal neglect of poor Bertrand. He turned savagely on the guard. "Go and find out!" he shouted, in execrable German, but in a voice that roused the echo of obedience to authority in the soldier's dull mind. He went out more quickly than Bob had ever seen him move before. In a moment he was back again, and the sergeant with him. Bob repeated his demand, but got no more satisfaction than the assurance that, "The Herr Doctor will certainly be here to-morrow."
"If he isn't, you will take me to the Commandant," he declared in a burst of righteous indignation. "And now," he added, a cold blast from the door reminding him of his own need, "I want another blanket. I gave one of mine to Captain Bertrand."
Not all of this speech was comprehensible to the sergeant, for Bob's German was very strange indeed, and all the words he did not know were supplemented by French or English terms. But the blanket request he did understand and seemed highly doubtful about being able to grant. "I will try, Herr Lieutenant," was the most he would say, and a moment later Bob was left alone.
He went to bed in his overcoat, wrapped in his single blanket, for he had no hope of receiving a second one that night. The little fire that blew hither and thither, in the wind that rushed down the chimney, could not keep him from shivering, but after a while he went to sleep.
When morning dawned Bob got up to the sound of hundreds of clattering boots, and throwing off his overcoat, went through some brisk exercises for half an hour until his chilled blood ran warm again. While he did it he came to a resolution in behalf of the unfortunate Frenchman lying sick and solitary next door, and although he had little hope of gaining any favors from the Commandant or his subordinates, he resolved to make the effort. Defiance was his only weapon, a poor enough one since he was helpless in his captors' hands, but it had already achieved more with his guard than had politeness. Anyway, he felt that his angry feelings must find expression somehow.
He struggled to make the fire burn until the soldier entered with his coffee. No more bread was yet forthcoming, though thanks to his visit to the canteen, Bob still had a little. He turned to the guard, getting up from his seat on the cot before the fire. "Where is my blanket?" he demanded.
The man muttered something about the matter having been referred to the Commandant.
"Rats!" ejaculated Bob, thrusting his hands deep in his trousers pockets and staring disgustedly at the guard's heavy red face.
The soldier's little blue eyes lighted up with a vague alarm. He evidently felt the American to be an unknown quantity, of whom anything might be expected. Bob had already noticed furtive glances cast at him, as though sudden violence on his part was not unlikely. He felt decidedly like realizing the guard's suspicions now.