The foreman, for he it was, planted himself with all the heaviness and importance of his big bulk before the small man, looking him over from head to foot. “To work? Why, the fellow can’t even stand on his feet!”
“I have had a long tramp,” the other said. “I come from Ottertal.”
“That is something wonderful!” sneered the foreman, trying to read in the dim light a slip of paper that was now passed to him by the trembling hand. “Your name is Huber?” he asked after a while, looking up again.
“Yes, George Huber.”
“How did you get that uniform?”
“I am a soldier on furlough.”
“What? You have served in the army?”
“Yes; seven years in the twelfth regiment. They sent me home now because I can not get rid of the fever I caught during the siege of Venice.”
“Oh, fever, too! Well, they take all kinds of people in the offices! Most of them are cripples, to be used only as stone-crushers. Now, remember,” he added, raising his fist in a threatening manner, “if you don’t show me every evening two loads of crushed stone as a day’s work, I will discharge you. This is not a hospital!” He took up the basket and went into the house, followed by the others. There he unlocked a heavy door plated all over with sheets of iron; it led into a cave that had been blasted into the rock and was now used as a cellar. While Tertschka held as a candle the piece of resinous pine which she had taken from the big hearth and lighted, the provisions were packed away. The foreman closed the door and retired behind a partition; the others stretched themselves out on straw, chattering among themselves, without noticing their new comrade.
George waited timidly at the entrance door; at last Tertschka went up to him. “Go and sleep there,” she said, pointing to the straw.