Vogt soon formed his own opinions about his comrades.
The best of them all, the one who put the whole lot into the shade, was without doubt Klitzing. The courage with which the weakly clerk performed his duties filled him with an almost reverential admiration, and the honest fellow was ready to stand by the poor, harassed lad whenever it was possible.
During the dinner hour, if Klitzing were too much fatigued to go to the dining-hall, Vogt would carry his rations to him, and if possible would add his own piece of meat to the other's portion. Then he would quickly polish up boots and buttons for him and hand him his cap when it was time for the after-noon drill to commence.
"Come, Heinrich, I have made you smart," he would say with an attempt to joke. "Now we shall be all right."
And Klitzing would go down the steps with aching limbs and fall into line.
Vogt's care for him only ceased at night and began anew every morning. It was the source both of joy and shame to the clerk; he deprecated it to his comrade, but Vogt shut him up with good-natured roughness. So Klitzing let the matter be, and thought that a mother's care for her child must be something like this. For he had never known his parents, but after their early death had grown up as the adopted child of some distant relations.
Vogt himself had also the feeling that instead of a comrade Klitzing was more like a child, or, rather, a younger brother to care for; but that suited his strength of character, and anyhow Klitzing was a very different fellow from the gay, clever, Weise, and a far better one.
Weise tried to make himself a favourite with all, but the others noticed that he kept a check upon himself and never showed himself as he really was. Moreover, even when he was alone with them, he evidently felt a certain constraint.
One morning while washing there was almost a quarrel, when Vogt caught him by the arm and tried to examine the tattoo marks on his skin. Weise angrily shook himself free; but Vogt had seen that on the right forearm the words "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" were inscribed, surrounded by a broken chain and a wreath of flame, and above them something that looked like a nightcap.
His father had never discussed politics with him, but Vogt had learnt enough by himself to recognise the significance of the tattooing; Weise was a social-democrat! Well, that was nothing so very bad. At home in the village there were numbers of social-democrats, chiefly workers in the large fire-clay factory by the river, and they were all very good sort of people. Certainly, such tendencies were strictly forbidden in the army, so Weise must take care of himself.