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Vogt himself had also the feeling that instead of a comrade Klitzing was more like a child, or, rather, a younger brother to care for; but that suited his strength of character, and anyhow Klitzing was a very different fellow from the gay, clever, Weise, and a far better one.
But it was opened instantly again from within. A little hunchback with shining eyes hurried towards him. "Herr Maimon?" he said inquiringly, holding out his hand with a smile of welcome. Startled, Maimon laid his hand without speaking in that cordial palm. So this was the man he had envied. No one had ever told him that "Nathan der Weise" was thus afflicted.
They shook hands warmly, and it seemed to Vogt that they looked at each other as if there were some private understanding between them. Curious for an explanation, he inquired, "Who's that? He's an old hand, isn't he?" Weise replied: "Oh, he's an old friend of mine; Wolf is his name. Yes, he has served since last autumn."
Certainly, such tendencies were strictly forbidden in the army, so Weise must take care of himself. On the whole this meant nothing to Vogt. He had almost forgotten about the tattooed arm, and the recollection of it was only once forced upon his memory when taking the oath. Then Weise had sworn fealty to the king, raising the arm on which was inscribed the motto of revolution.
Weise angrily shook himself free; but Vogt had seen that on the right forearm the words "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" were inscribed, surrounded by a broken chain and a wreath of flame, and above them something that looked like a nightcap.
He wiped his short black beard, and nodded to Vogt. "This goes down pretty quick, doesn't it?" he said, as he spooned up his food. "Rather!" answered Vogt. And the other went on, as he pointed to his empty napkin: "If only our two years would go as fast!" They soon made acquaintance. Weise was the man's name, and he was a locksmith from a factory in the neighbouring coal-district.
Was not this a topsy-turvy world? But no. Weise fitted his position to a nicety. His fluent adaptability was in its right place. Little Captain von Wegstetten would have no non-commissioned officer under him better calculated to satisfy his desires than Gustav Weise.
His father had never discussed politics with him, but Vogt had learnt enough by himself to recognise the significance of the tattooing; Weise was a social-democrat! Well, that was nothing so very bad. At home in the village there were numbers of social-democrats, chiefly workers in the large fire-clay factory by the river, and they were all very good sort of people.
Some, of course, were more fatigued by the work than others. Vogt and Weise were among those who got on best. Both were strong, healthy lads, and, moreover, not stupid; so that the theoretical instruction was as easy to them as the foot-drill, gun-practice, and gymnastics. To be attentive and quick that was the chief thing.
The non-commissioned officer had a clear head, and it might be hoped he would make a career for himself. Under these circumstances Weise began more and more to curse the day when he had had tattooed upon his arm that ridiculous jingle about Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity.
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