“Your invalid claims, Schmitz, have been disallowed. The colonel says you would have had to make a report at the time. Now it is too late. Just as I thought. Here is something for you,—the bill of your attorney, who has asked the regiment to collect the amount due him. It’s a matter of sixty marks; and if you are unable to pay it he threatens to seize your property.”
Schmitz had almost forgotten about that.
“Within an hour I shall have the money,” said he, after reflecting a moment.
Then he went down to the city and entered the store of a watchmaker. He laid on the counter his watch and chain and asked in a firm voice:
“What will you give me on this? I need money!”
The watchmaker examined both, and then said, with something of a sneer:
“Twenty marks. That is all I can give you.”
Schmitz calculated silently. He still had thirty-five, and twenty more made fifty-five. So he needed another five marks. He removed a ring from his finger, a little gift from his mother.
“What is this worth to you?”
“Ten marks!”