Sergeant Schumann stood by his table in the orthodox attitude of respectful attention. As on every day of the eight years during which Wegstetten had commanded the sixth battery, and he, Schumann, had been its sergeant-major, he waited until the former by a gesture or a word should permit him to assume an easier position. Nothing could alter this; not even the confidence that time had gradually established between them.
Wegstetten motioned him kindly to a seat, and then bent over the records of the recruits.
"Well, Schumann," he began, "what sort of a lot have we got this time?"
"It doesn't seem a bad year, sir," answered the sergeant-major; "they've nearly all got clean sheets----"
"Hm," assented the officer, "nearly all, but----?"
"Two have been convicted, one of theft, the other of resisting lawful authority. The first made away with a quantity of copper wire from a building; and the second made a row because he was notified that he had contravened some regulations as to driving. He was a cab-driver. Then there is another who has been punished for begging, tramping the streets, and sleeping out at nights."
"Well, he won't catch cold camping out, at any rate! What do you think, sergeant? mustn't a chap like that be glad to have a good roof over his head every night? Well, go on! What about political antecedents?"
"There is only one marked for that, sir--Gustav Weise."
Wegstetten began to polish his eye-glasses; then, "Read it aloud, Schumann," he said.
The sergeant-major took the paper and read: "Weise has more than once taken an active part in socialist propaganda; in spite of his youth he was for a time confidential agent for the Metal Workers' Union, and sometimes spoke at meetings, without, however, necessitating the interference of the police-officer in attendance, as Weise's communications chiefly referred to details of the trade."