Schumann had purposely chosen to go to the town by the lonely way through the wood, because if he had gone by the high road he would have met the battery officers again. That would have meant another delay; and then besides he felt he belonged far more to the men than to the officers, despite his double stripes.
He paused on the hill and gazed at the well-known landscape beneath him, where in the foreground lay the great drill-ground at his feet.
With his sharp eyes he could even recognise individual men. The fourth battery had just brought its six guns up to the gate; the fifth had not stirred as yet--Captain Mohr was not fond of duty so soon after dinner; and now his own battery, the sixth, arrived on the ground to perform foot-drill. The ornaments on the helmets shimmered in the sun, and he almost fancied he could hear the even tread. Wegstetten and the two lieutenants were behind.
The drill began, and the breaking up into files, the deployment, and finally the parade-march, first in file and then in battery column--all went splendidly. It was a joy to look down upon the smart, well-ordered straight lines as they moved. Instead of himself, Heppner marched in the sergeant-major's place, and Keyser, as the senior non-commissioned officer present, led the file of drivers instead of the deputy sergeant-major.
All was thoroughly well done, there was not a hitch anywhere.
And he, Schumann, had believed that he was indispensable, he had thought things could not go on without him!
At supper Julie Heppner said to her husband: "Otto, the money you give us for housekeeping isn't enough. Ida couldn't pay the milkman to-day."
"No affair of mine," replied the deputy sergeant-major, with his mouth full. "You must manage things better."
When he had finished eating he put his coat on, buckled on his sabre and put on his forage cap.
His wife watched him from the sofa with angry eyes as he brushed his heavy beard and put on his gloves.