“There comes Pagel!” cried Studmann, all hot and cold at these confessions of a man who was usually so reserved. For the good fellow would bitterly regret it one day. And then he would be annoyed with his friend for having spoken to him like that.
But von Prackwitz was as if intoxicated. It must be the air at the Schlesische Bahnhof.
“You’ve got enough baggage, Pagel,” he said very benevolently. “I hope you’ll be able to stand it long enough to wear everything you’ve got there. In the country we work, you know, we don’t play! All right, all right, I didn’t really mean it that way! Come to that, I’ve been playing about myself. And now be so good as to get three second-class tickets at the booking office, as far as Frankfurt. Then we’ll dash through at the last minute.”
“But don’t you want to talk to the agent first? After all, the men have been told to come here.”
“Well, you go and get the tickets and then come straight back here, Pagel. What do you want me to say to the man? He tried to do me down; now I am doing him down.”
“But that sort of thing isn’t done, Prackwitz. You don’t have to be afraid of explaining things. You are fully within your rights to refuse to have the men—they aren’t land workers. One doesn’t go sneaking off—like a schoolboy.”
“Studmann, I am not a schoolboy! I must ask you …”
“Like a schoolboy, I said, Prackwitz.”
“All right, then, Studmann, I shall do as I think fit.”
“But I thought, Prackwitz, you wanted to have my advice.”
“Of course, Studmann, of course! Now don’t pull faces. I’m always glad to hear your advice, only this time, you see … the truth is I told the agent that the men could look as they liked so long as they had hands to work with.”
“I see!”
“But I didn’t think he’d send a gang like that. I can’t pay a couple of hundred gold marks commission for that. Now please, go on ahead with Pagel, I’ll come after you. Let me do the thing this once, as I like.”
“All right, Prackwitz,” said von Studmann after brief reflection. “Just this once. It isn’t really right nor is it a good beginning to our co-operation but …”
“Off with you!” cried the Rittmeister. “Second-class smoker! Another eight minutes and good-by Berlin—thank God!”
Ascending the stairs to the platform with young Pagel, von Studmann was very thoughtful. So don’t let’s consider it the beginning of our cooperation. But rather the end of Berlin. He was glad that he need not see how his old comrade, by a dash to the train, avoided paying an agent’s commission. Once the sight of the Rittmeister at other storming parties had helped him. What cursed times these were that could so change a man!
“So you have decided to come after all,” he said to young Pagel. “It’s very nice of you.”
VIII
Left alone, the Rittmeister gnawed his lip and looked at the ticket in his hand, undecided. The enthusiastic mood which had made all his confessions easy vanished with his two companions. Now he was overwhelmed by the situation, which was simply sickening. Angrily wrinkling his brow, he peered into the station hall. The men had become uneasy with the approach of the time due for departure; those sitting on the steps had got up; groups formed and were carrying on excited discussions; on the landing stood the bony agent attempting to reassure those crowding round him. His eyes searched the hall.
The Rittmeister retreated further behind his pillar. He saw no possibility of getting through this gang of hooligans unseen. Why hadn’t the damned platform more entrances?
I’m not going to take the men, I won’t take them under any circumstances. I’m not going to make myself the laughing-stock of the whole district. Farming in silk dresses and high-heeled shoes! Not a spare shirt, not a spare pair of trousers. If the rascals should ever get wet they’d all sit stark naked on their bunks till their things were dry again. What a fine state of affairs! No, the convicts for me.
The Rittmeister peered round the pillar, drew back quickly. The agent had left his elevated point of vantage; with the girl in the shabby blouse on one side of him, the old boy with the botanist-box and frock coat on the other, he was struggling toward the platform entrance, talking excitedly. The Rittmeister would have liked to creep into the pillar, turn to stone, dissolve—so terrified was he of this trio.
And just at that moment, at that most critical of critical moments, a girl’s voice, somewhat harsh but by no means unpleasant, sounded in his ear. “Oh, the Rittmeister!”
He swung round and stared.
Yes, it was true; before him stood, as if she had fallen from heaven, the daughter of his overseer Kowalewski, a girl whom he had always liked to see on account of her fresh appearance and dainty beauty, so different from the rest of the silly, clumsy girls working on the farm. He had often favored her with a fatherly word.
“Sophie!” he said. “What are you doing here, Sophie?”
“I’m going to spend a holiday with my parents,” she laughed, looking at him in quite a daughterly way.
“Ah, Sophie,” he said eagerly. “You come as if you were really sent from heaven. See that man on the other side of the pillar, with a bald head, yes, the tall one—don’t stare like that, Sophie!—he mustn’t see me under any circumstances. I’ve got to get to the train and there’s only three minutes more. Can’t you get him away somehow, just long enough for me to flit through the entrance hall? I have my ticket. Thanks, thanks, Sophie, I’ll explain it all in the train. You’re still the same splendid girl. Hurry!”
He heard her voice, loud, very quarrelsome. “I say, don’t stand in the way! I’ve got to get to my train. Here, you’d better take my bags.”
Fine girl! But she’d changed a lot. A bit flashy …
He raced off as fast as he could, not at all like a Rittmeister, not at all like an employer. The barrier. There in front was the barrier.
But perhaps the fellow had platform tickets. Queer shadows under her eyes. And her face had got fat, all its fineness gone. Bloated, yes, as if from drink … “I know, thanks; yes, I know, the train on the left—not the first time I’m traveling here. Thanks!”
Thank God he’d made it! But he would only be safe when the train was moving.… Yes, he was afraid little Sophie had already in the past got a little mixed up with the young fellows in the village, so he had heard—and Berlin was a very slippery place. He knew that to his own cost.… Thank God, there was Pagel waving! “Well, gentlemen, I’ve made it. Please, Studmann, please, Pagel—stand at the window so that no one can look in; the fellow’s quite capable of inspecting the carriages. I must first mop myself; I’m simply dripping. What a run, early in the morning.”
“So you got through without being molested?” asked Studmann.
“It wasn’t easy! And do you know who helped me? My overseer’s daughter! She happened to turn up, traveling home on holiday; she’s maid to some countess here in Berlin.… As a matter of fact, you might keep an eye open to see whether she still makes the train; it’s due to start at any moment now. You might ask her to get in here. I should like to find out how she’s getting on. A fine girl—she understood straight away, without a word!”
“Yes, but what does she look like? Old, young? Fat, thin? Fair, dark?”
“Ah, Berlin hasn’t done her much good. No, you’d better leave it. There would only be talk afterwards, and it would be awkward in Neulohe when we meet again. After all, she’s only the daughter of my overseer! Always keep to that rule, Pagel. Keep your distance from the men—no familiarity, no mixing with them. Understand?”
“Yes, Herr Rittmeister.”