Late that afternoon he received a folded bit of blue paper from the waistbelt of an orderly, which contained in English characters and as a single word “Alright,” followed by certain jagged pen-marks, which he recognized as Adlerkreutz's signature. But it was not until a week later that he learned anything definite. He was returning one night to his lodgings in the residential part of the city, and, in opening the door with his pass-key, perceived in the rear of the hall his handmaiden Trudschen, attended by the usual blue or yellow or red shadow. He was passing by them with the local 'n' Abend! on his lips when the soldier turned his face and saluted. The consul stopped. It was the cherub Karl in uniform!
But it had not subdued a single one of his characteristics. His hair had been cropped a little more closely under his cap, but there was its color and woolliness still intact; his plump figure was girt by belt and buttons, but he only looked the more unreal, and more like a combination of pen-wiper and pincushion, until his puffy breast and shoulders seemed to offer a positive invitation to any one who had picked up a pin. But, wonderful!—according to his brief story—he had been so proficient in the goose step that he had been put in uniform already, and allowed certain small privileges,—among them, evidently the present one. The consul smiled and passed on. But it seemed strange to him that Trudschen, who was a tall strapping girl, exceedingly popular with the military, and who had never looked lower than a corporal at least, should accept the attentions of an Einjahriger like that. Later he interrogated her.
Ach! it was only Unser Karl! And the consul knew he was Amerikanisch!
“Indeed!”
“Yes! It was such a tearful story!”
“Tell me what it is,” said the consul, with a faint hope that Karl had volunteered some communication of his past.
“Ach Gott! There in America he was a man, and could 'vote,' make laws, and, God willing, become a town councilor,—or Ober Intendant,—and here he was nothing but a soldier for years. And this America was a fine country. Wunderschon? There were such big cities, and one 'Booflo'—could hold all Schlachtstadt, and had of people five hundred thousand!”
The consul sighed. Karl had evidently not yet got off the line of the New York Central and Erie roads. “But does he remember yet what he did with his papers?” said the consul persuasively.
“Ach! What does he want with PAPERS when he could make the laws? They were dumb, stupid things—these papers—to him.”
“But his appetite remains good, I hope?” suggested the consul.