George was somewhat embarrassed. He was a good son, was proud of his father and greatly loved him, and just because of this he wanted to prevent people seeing anything odd in his manners at dinner; above all he was anxious that his companions should have no occasion to make remarks about anything in his behaviour that displeased them. Besides, he was afraid that his father, whose passionate, quick temper he was only too well aware of, might lose his self-control and make unflattering remarks which could only harm them both. So he said hesitatingly; "I'm afraid that would scarcely do, father; it is an old custom in the army that on the first time an officer dines with his new comrades he is invited by them as a guest, and as such he naturally cannot bring a guest with him."
The old man understood this more easily than George had dared to hope. "Very well, then, I must drink my Rhine wine by myself; we shall see each other again before we go to bed, and then you must tell me everything that happened."
But when George returned about ten o'clock he had nothing much to relate, at least nothing very pleasant. The dinner had been all right; they had, of course, drunk his health, but that was all; the officers' quarters were splendid, and George gave a long account of these until his father at last said "Good-night" to him.
George went up to his room, but he lay awake a long time, and thought over what he had not related to his father. The oldest officer at dinner had bade him welcome briefly, but the words had sounded cold, and George said to himself that he only spoke because he was obliged to, and there was no heartiness in his words. The speech was followed by a cheer, glasses were clinked, and then the affair was over. No one had given him an invitation.
"Why did I not remain where I was? What's going to happen in the future?"
This question kept him awake a long time, and when at last he fell asleep he saw his mother's glad eyes beaming with joy at the distinction which had been given to her son.