“Why be angry?” observed the concierge, on this being reported to him. “The streets are the King’s. Who are the dogs of pedestrians but those that pay the taxes to build them?”
At last he determined to find Haeckel, the student. He did not know his Christian name, nor where he lodged. But he knew the corps he belonged to, by his small gray cap with a red band.
He was very nervous when he made this final effort. Corps houses were curious places, he had heard, and full of secrets. Even the great professors from the University might not enter without invitation. And his experience had been that students paid small respect to uniforms or to age. In truth, he passed the building twice before he could summon courage to touch the great brass knocker. And the arrogance of its clamor, when at last he rapped, startled him again. But here at least he need not have feared.
The student who was also doorkeeper eyed him kindly. “Well, comrade?” he said.
“I am seeking a student named Haeckel, of this corps,” said old Adelbert stoutly.
And had violated all etiquette, too, had he but known it!
“Haeckle?” repeated the doorkeeper. “I think—come in, comrade. I will inquire.”
For the name of Haeckel was, just then, one curiously significant.
He disappeared, and old Adelbert waited. When the doorkeeper returned, it was to tell him to follow him, and to lead the way downstairs.
There dawned on the old man’s eyes a curious sight. In a long basement room were perhaps thirty students, each armed with a foil, and wearing a wire mask. A half dozen lay figures on springs stood in the center in a low row, and before these perspiring youths thrust and parried. Some of them, already much scarred, stood and watched. This, then, was where the students prepared themselves for duels. Here they fought the mimic battles that were later on to lead to the much-prized scars.