But Vogt interrupted: "Don't talk such nonsense! I don't know what they are thinking of doing, but I can tell you it shall be prevented. I promise you that. Don't be afraid. I shall find a way out."
He began to ponder how he could protect his friend from the roughness of the "old gang."
Should he ask Sergeant Wiegandt to give up going to see his Frieda for one evening? If he told him, of course not officially, but in a sort of way privately, about the intentions of the elder soldiers, then Wiegandt would certainly stay in. But his feeling of solidarity with his comrades forbad this.
Only, were they any longer comrades when they could ill-treat a poor weakling? Surely not.
Still he rejected this plan, and in the end decided himself to defend Klitzing regardless of consequences. If he challenged the fellows fearlessly and cheekily they would be sure to turn on him, and he would be able to defend himself. At any rate he could better stand a good hard blow than the clerk could.
Evening came, and Sergeant Wiegandt went to his rendezvous as usual. An expectant silence lay over Room IX. The recruits cleaned their things and glanced now and then in an embarrassed way at the corner where Vogt had seated himself close to Klitzing. The brewer had joined them also.
All was quiet until shortly before bed-time. Then heavy clanking steps approached from the large Room VII. on the other side of the corridor, and eight or nine old drivers pushed themselves in, armed with whips, belts, and snaffle-reins.
Vogt placed himself full in front of Klitzing.
"You be off!" they said.
"I shan't!" answered Vogt.