It was a considerable time before the last standing-order was given out, after which the sergeant-major desired those who wished to attend to the horses and to be drivers to stand on one side, and those who wanted to be gunners to take up their position on the other. Vogt and his new friend Weise placed themselves with the gunners, Vogt in this acting after his father's advice. "Youngster," the old man had said, "first and foremost be a good gunner. Then if you want to go on serving and become a corporal, you will get on faster than you would otherwise. You will know your gun and will only have to learn to ride."
Vogt began now to long for the end of all this. He felt tired in every limb, and would never have believed that waiting and standing about could take it out of one to such an extent. But what had gone before was child's play compared with the tiresome business of getting fitted with a uniform, which now began. Vogt himself came off rather well: the trousers, measured according to the length of the outstretched arm, fitted exactly, as did also the second coat he tried on; the leather belt with sword attached he buckled on at once, and cap and helmet were soon forthcoming, but he had to put on several pairs of boots before he found the right ones. Then the corporal tossed him over a drill suit as well, and he was ready.
But with some of the men nothing would fit. The tallest of all found the sleeves reaching just below his elbows, and when he tried the next size, the coat hung in folds across his chest. Others had square heads on which the round helmets rocked about, until they were jammed on by two or three good blows of the fist. One sturdy, thick-set, big-bellied fellow it seemed impossible to suit; everything was far too tight for him.
"What have you been hitherto?" asked one of the non-commissioned officers.
"A brewer," answered the fat man.
"Did you drink all your beer yourself, then, eh?" inquired the other; and the man who gave out the clothing flung over a fresh suit, saying, threateningly: "Well, if that doesn't fit, by God! you shall drill in your drawers!"
He made the trousers meet with difficulty, and the coat was abominably tight; but the corporal gave him a dig in the stomach and said: "Cheer up, fatty! that'll soon go. They'll get rid of your paunch here in no time!"
When Vogt left the kit-room with his regimentals on his arm the erstwhile perfect order of the shelves, and of the symmetrically-folded piles of clothing, had been transformed into a scene of the wildest confusion. "A pity so much labour should be wasted," he thought.
And in what a wretched state were the clothes he had now to wear! The green cloth of the coat was so shabby that in parts it was positively threadbare; dark patches had been put in near the arm-holes, and the once red facings were quite faded. He examined them dejectedly and shook his head; he had expected something very different, and certainly he would not cut much of a figure in this get-up. He pulled a stool up to his locker, and began to take his things off. Weise sat down near him, already a full-blown soldier. The smart young fellow could adapt himself to anything, and had known at once how to give just the right saucy tilt to his forage-cap.
"Fine, eh?" he said, laughing, as he struck an attitude and gave his moustache an upward twirl.