Maurer was a squat-built man, and his pale, oval face was strangely illuminated by piercing eyes of a forbidding expression. His moustache hung straggling about the corners of his mouth, and there was something indicative of cruelty and meanness about his whole face.
“I suppose you can’t tear yourself away from your work again? Aren’t you coming soon?” he called over to Schmitz. But the latter did not even look up from his work, and briefly answered:
“In a moment; sit down!”
The two men were good friends.
Only a few weeks before Schmitz had stood amidst the mechanics at the lathe, pushing mechanically one cube of wood after the other into the sharp teeth of the rotating steel. This sort of activity had permitted him to indulge in his own thoughts, for it did not require him to expend his intellect as well as his brawn.
But in a short while qualities had been detected in the quiet, diligent workingman which brought him advancement. His military training and the self-sufficing determination which he had acquired in dealing with raw recruits had given him a knack of controlling his fellow-workers. Thus it came about that Schmitz was promoted to the position of overseer in the machine hall, the same in which he had so far toiled with the rest. His fellow-workers, of course, looked with envy upon this parvenu, who had only recently appeared among them and who now played the part of commander. There was no dearth of scornful remarks at his expense, but the old soldier understood very well how to baffle such behavior.
In the morning, after he had seen his men busily at work at their various tasks, he frequently paid a visit to Maurer, who was employed as an engineer.
And during these matutinal chats Maurer discovered in Schmitz a man whom it would be easy to gain for his cause,—the cause of Socialism. Maurer himself was one of the most notorious local leaders of the Socialist hosts, and he felt sure that this new man would become a valuable addition to the ranks of the forces acting under his supervision.
In this assumption, indeed, Maurer was not mistaken. Schmitz was still harboring the hatred against militarism and the government, which had been engendered in him by his own experience in the army. A deep-seated, grim feeling fermented in his soul because of the bitter injustice done him. He could not forget that the best years of his life had been frittered away in a service which in the end proved of no avail to him. Thus, he had become a recruit for the Socialist cause, and it had scarcely needed the persuasions of his new comrade, Maurer, to induce him to forswear all allegiance to the ancient cause of king and fatherland, and to vow service with body and soul to the red flag. The loyal soldier had become a strong pillar of the Socialist Party. On the morrow Schmitz was to make a speech before a large circle of men holding similar views, and it was for that Maurer was now waiting for him. He meant to inculcate another lesson or two in his friend’s mind, and to talk over with him a few important points in the programme of the evening.
When Schmitz had laid aside his work and locked up his sheets in the desk,—sheets on which the list of names of the men under him and the respective amounts of work done by each were marked down,—he joined Maurer. Both then walked on in silence through the narrow lanes towards Maurer’s dwelling.