"Your cigarettes are excellent, Captain," began the General.
Von Hügelweiler regarded the cynical Jewish face in silence. General Meyer was a man whom few understood and many feared. The greatcoat,—thrown open at the breast,—half revealed a number of famous Orders, none of them won by prowess on the field of battle. The spurred boots and the riding whip that occasionally flicked them suggested the horseman, though all knew that General Meyer was never so ill at ease as when on horseback. The dreamy eye, the slothful pose, the drawled speech, suggested anything but the ruler of a fiery soldiery, but for all that Meyer had won his way and held his post by something more formidable than a courtly tongue and a capacity for epigrammatic badinage. Those who served Meyer well were served well in return; those who flouted the Jew,—even in secret,—had a curious habit of being superannuated at an early period in their career.
"Pray be seated, Captain," pursued the visitor suavely.
Von Hügelweiler drew up a chair, and sat stiffly thereon, awaiting developments.
"You are competing for the King's prize on the Rundsee to-morrow?"
"Yes, General."
"Ah! I happen to be judge of the competition."
To this the Captain offered no comment. He was wondering what on earth was coming.
"You are exceedingly keen, of course, on winning this very important trophy?" pursued the elder man, with a swift glance.
"Yes, General—exceedingly keen," admitted Von Hügelweiler.