At Breckenheim Roland called a halt for midday refreshment, and he was compelled to wait nearly half an hour until the last straggler of his woebegone crew limped from the road on to the greensward in front of the Weinstaube which had been selected for a feeding-place. Black bread and a coarse kind of country cheese were the only provisions obtainable, but of these eatables there was an ample supply, and, better than all to the jaded wayfarers, wine in abundance, of good quality, too, for Breckenheim stands little more than a league to the north of the celebrated Hochheim.
The wanderers came in by ones and twos, and sank down upon the benches before the tavern, or sprawled at full length on the short grass, where Kurzbold and his three friends dropped promptly off into sleep. A more dejected and amenable gang even Roland could not have wished to command. Every ounce of fight, or even discussion, was gone from them. They cared not where they were, or what any one said to them. Their sole desire was to be let alone, and they took not the slightest interest even in the preparing of their frugal meal. A mug of wine served to each mitigated the general depression, although Kurzbold showed how far gone he was by swearing dismally when roused even to drink the wine. He said he was resolved to lead a temperate life in future, but nevertheless managed to dispose of his allowance in one long, parched draught.
Greusel approached his chief.
“There will be some difficulty,” he said, “when this meal has to be paid for. I find that the men are all practically penniless.”
“Tell them they need anticipate no trouble about that,” replied Roland. “I have settled the bill, and will see that they do not starve or die of thirst before we reach the Rhine.”
“It is proposed,” continued Greusel, “that each man should give all the money he possesses into a general fund to be dealt with by a committee the men will appoint. What do you say to this?”
“There is nothing to say. I notice that the proposal was not made until the proposers’ pouches were empty.”
“They know that some of us have money,” Greusel went on, “myself, for instance, and they wish us to share as good comrades should—at least, that is their phrase.”
“An admirable phrase, yet I don’t agree with it. How much money have you, Greusel?”
“The thirty thalers are practically intact, and Ebearhard has about the same.”