‘A good thing! A very good thing!’ exclaimed the second more solemnly than before. He rarely said much else, and his hand was infinitely more eloquent than his tongue.
‘I hope it is,’ said Greif. ‘This is your affair. You had better go and see the second of the Rhine Korps at once. Rex is waiting for the answer at the Palmengarten. Remember he is determined to fight at once.’
‘He shall drum till the hair flies about the place,’ answered the second, with an unusual flight of rhetoric, as he slipped on his overcoat and went out.
‘You are not going?’ asked the students as Greif showed signs of following his brother-officer.
‘I cannot leave Rex waiting,’ objected Greif.
‘Send for him to come here! If he really means to fight, he is not such a Philistine as we thought!’ cried two or three.
‘If you like, I will send for him,’ answered Greif. ‘Here, little fox!’ he exclaimed, addressing a beardless youth of vast proportions who sat silent at the end of the table. ‘Go to the Palmengarten and say that Greifenstein wishes Herr Rex to come here. Introduce yourself properly before speaking to him.’
The huge-limbed boy rose without a word, gravely saluted and left the room. Greif was his idol, the type which he aspired to imitate, and he obeyed him like a lamb.
‘So Rex means to fight,’ remarked one of the young men, who sat opposite to Greif. ‘Was he ever in a Korps?’
‘Possibly,’ answered the chief.