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What are we waiting for?" demanded Pilzer. "I want to be in the thick of the fighting and not trailing along with the reserves!" If any one in the 128th wins the bronze cross he means that it shall be he and not Eugene Aronson. "Never mind, you'll have a chance. There'll be war enough to go around, I am sure!" said Hugo Mallin. "More than you'll want!" Pilzer shot back, thrusting out his jaw.
"The absence of any word from the front only increases the suspense of the people. They do not know whether their sons and brothers and husbands are living or dead," continued the judge's son. "Up to a week ago they let us write," said Pilzer, "though they wouldn't let us say anything except that we were well." "That was because it might give information to the enemy," said Peterkin.
Theodore Spiering has been responsible for the educational detail of classic and modern works; Arthur Hartmann a composer of marked originality Albert Spalding, Eddy Brown, Francis MacMillan, Max Pilzer, David Hochstein, Richard Czerwonky, Cecil Burleigh, Edwin Grasse, Edmund Severn, Franz C. Bornschein, Leo Ornstein, Rubin Goldmark, Louis Pershinger, Louis Victor Saar whose ms. always look as though engraved have all given me opportunities of seeing the best the American violin composer is creating at the present time.
"Did you get the custards?" asked the barber's son in a squeaky voice. "No, but I got a jelly once only once!" "Snob!" said the barber's son. "Jelly! I could eat a hogshead of jelly and still be empty! What I want is fresh meat!" growled Pilzer, the butcher's son. "A hogshead of jelly might be good to bathe in!" said the banker's son. "I haven't had a bath for a month." "I have.
"The !" exclaimed Pilzer, referring to Westerling. He who had set out to be an officers' favorite had become bitter against all officers, high and low. Peterkin was speechlessly aghast. The others said nothing. They were used to Pilzer's oaths and obscenity, with a growing inclination to profanity on their own part. Besides, they rather agreed with his view of the chief of staff.
We are losing valuable time!" he announced, rounding his men toward the door with commanding gestures. "We are going in pursuit!" Marta, who had observed the latter part of the scene from the shadows of the hall, knew that she should never forget Hugo's face as he turned on Pilzer, while his voice of protest struck a singing chord in her jangling nerves.
Some of the company joined in the flight of the attackers from the town into the open, but Hugo and Pilzer and their friends remained under cover of the wall. They still saw red, the red of a darker anger that of repulse. When, finally, they burst into the redoubt after it was found that the Browns had gone, all, even the judge's son, were the war demon's, own.
Pilzer growled to Hugo. "That would be better than murdering my fellowman to get his property," Hugo answered, so soberly that it did not seem to his comrades that he was joking this time. Pilzer's snarling exclamation of "White feather!" came in the midst of a chorus of indignation.
The judge's son stopped Peterkin and put a hand on either of the adversaries' shoulders. "Can't we get enough fighting from the Browns without fighting each other?" he asked. The banker's son and Pilzer dropped back in their places, in the reaction of men who had spent their strength in defiance.
A pupil of Joachim, Shradieck, Gustav Hollander, he is, as it has already been picturesquely put, "a graduate of the rock and thorn university," an artist who owes his success mainly to his own natural gifts plus an infinite capacity for taking pains. Though primarily an interpreter his interlocutor yet had the good fortune to happen on Mr. Pilzer when he was giving a lesson.
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