You know the Governor has strictly banned me from being informal.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten. I just don’t like telling you all the time.’

‘That’s precisely it,’ said Rabause hurriedly. ‘If you yourself wanted me to be formal, I wouldn’t keep forgetting not to be. But you want the informality.’

‘Rabause, you’ve just done it again!’

‘See? Your father was quite right. It’s of no importance if a chief stable boy uses the informal “you” when talking to the Governor’s son. You’re not ten years old any more, as you were back then when I came here. You’re now twenty-five.’

‘Twenty-four.’

‘All right, twenty-four.’ And Rabause kicked thoughtfully against the chest. ‘Well, you may have to play at soldiers again …’

‘Me? Never! Once is enough.’

‘But suppose there’s a war?’

‘There won’t be a war.’

‘Didn’t you read the special editions yesterday about the Serbs assassinating the Austrian Crown Prince? There’ll be war, you see.’

‘What have we got to do with the Serbs? Where are they, anyhow?’

‘I don’t know exactly, Ottchen, somewhere that way …’ Rabause pointed vaguely across the stable.

‘Well, there you are! That’s why there can’t be a war.’

Both were silent a while.

‘If the Governor doesn’t come soon I’d better feed the horses … The cabs have to go out on time … Hadn’t you better go and see, Ottchen?’

‘Father said he was coming at once.’

‘I’ll call him myself if you’re afraid, Ottchen.’

‘I shouldn’t, Rabause. Father’ll come.’

‘What’s the matter? A dust-up?’

Otto nodded.

‘Again? So early? What’s it about?’

‘Nothing …’

‘I suppose there’s a saucepan out of place again in the kitchen. The Governor overdoes it; he’s killing himself and the others too. You’ve got no guts left as it is, Ottchen.’

‘Oh, I’ll stick it for the present. But I wouldn’t say No to a war if I could get out of this place. I’d like some peace and quiet for a change, not always to be barked at.’

‘But they bark at you in the Prussian Army too, Ottchen.’

‘Not as Father does, though.’

‘There!’ cried Rabause, ‘we’re in trouble now. Come, Ottchen.’ And he ran to the stable door.

‘Wouldn’t it be better to stay here?’ asked Otto indecisively, but then followed Rabause out of the stable.

§ IX

Across the courtyard came old Hackendahl shoving Erich, dressed only in shirt and trousers, in front of him. The women, frightened and curious, were peering out of the windows. The son’s defiance had ended in the father getting beside himself with rage.

‘So you want to be a student, eh?’ the old man was shouting, pushing Erich so that he stumbled. ‘Well, you’re a blackguard, a thief!’

‘I’ll not put up with it,’ cried Erich, ‘I’ll …’

‘Sir! Please, sir, you’re waking the neighbours,’ begged the alarmed stableman.

‘Just have a look, Rabause, at this young gentleman who’s squandered eighty marks in one night and says he has the right to do it. Stand still, you, when your father speaks to you. I’ll show you who’s master in this house. I’m taking you away from school today.’

‘You can’t do that!’

‘I can. I swear I’ll do it, and today.’

‘Sir, don’t upset yourself so …’ began Rabause.

‘Father!’

‘Yes, you can call me Father now, when it’s too late. But there’s an end of fathering for you, my lad; henceforward I’m just your boss – and I’ll see that you learn to obey. Quick, into the stables! From today on you’re a stable hand here. And I can promise you, you’ll have so much mucking-out and cleaning …’

‘I’ll never do it, Father! I’d rather run away than touch a pitchfork!’

‘Think about it, Governor – such a good head on him.’

‘Good? For what? For theft! No, Erich. Into the stables with you!’

‘I won’t!’

‘At once!’

‘Never!’

‘You refuse to obey your father?’

‘I’ll never set foot in the stables, and I’ll never lay hands on a pitchfork!’

‘Erich, don’t go too far! Go into the stables, do the work, obey – and we’ll see at the end of a year—’

‘A year? Not an hour, not a minute!’

‘You won’t go?’

‘Never!’

His father stood, thinking, almost calm.

‘Ottchen, do talk to Erich,’ begged old Rabause. ‘He must be sensible. It needn’t be for a year, your father’ll be satisfied with a month, a week even – once he’s sure of his good intentions.’

‘Erich …’ entreated Otto.

‘Be quiet,’ shouted Erich. ‘You poor worm! If you hadn’t cringed to Father he wouldn’t have got like this.’

‘Come!’ said the old man, as if he had heard nothing. ‘Come!’ He put his hand on his son’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I won’t go into the stables.’

‘Come!’ said the father, dragging his son along in the direction of the house.