The Man on Horseback/Chapter 21

," said Baron von Götz-Wrede while Tom was out of the room, and examining Lord Vyvyan's five-thousand-guinea check, "you have done well. I shall speak of you to … You know …"

"Thank you, sir."

The officer gave him back the check, and the valet was about to tear it up when the other stopped him.

"No, no! What are you doing, man?"

"I thought, sir, I would …"

"Heavens, no! Put it back in Graves pocket. Better still, drop it on the floor—over there—near the little taboret."

"Zu Befehl, Herr Hauptmann!" Krauss clicked his heels. The check fluttered on the rug.

"That's right. No use having Graves suspect. He's deliciously simple, our American friend. But still …"

"Any other orders, Herr Hauptmann?"

"No, Krauss. You stay with Graves."

"But—I beg your pardon, sir—if he has lost his money …"

"Not exactly lost yet, worse luck! Lehneke is doing splendidly. So are the others. But the case is not yet finally decided."

"But …" Krauss cut in again, anxiously; and the Baron smiled condescendingly.

"Krauss," he asked, "have you ever known our branch of the service to make a mistake?"

"No, Herr Hauptmann!"

"You have worked for the service in America, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir. Also in England, and in France."

"Very well. You know the ropes. You know that we are never caught napping. We are armed against all contingencies. The army? The navy? To be sure. They will do their share when the day comes …"

"Yes," whispered Krauss, "the day—der Tag!"

"But," continued the other, "we—our branch—are the real people! Our names are unknown. We get little thanks. But we are the heart of Germany. We have the will, the brains, the clear-cut, cold efficiency. Thus in the case of this delightfully simple young American. He will … Ah!" as Tom came back with a bottle and two glasses, "Thanks! I need a drink."

"Say when," smiled Tom, pouring.

"That's plenty." Von Götz-Wrede raised his glass. "Fill yours, Graves."

"Sure. Never refused one yet."

"All right. And now—let me give you a toast!"

"Fire away!"

The Baron threw back his shoulders. His heels came together sharply. He spoke in a ringing, metallic voice:

"I drink to the newest officer in the invincible army of our All-Gracious Sovereign Wilhelm the Second, King of Prussia, Emperor of the Germans! I drink to Lieutenant Tom Graves of the Uhlans of the Guard!"

Tom put down his glass.

"Say!" he inquired. "What's biting you? What sort o' hop have you been hitting? What's the big joke?"

"Joke? There's no joke!"

The Baron walked up to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

"Tom," he said in low, earnest accents, "be one of us! Put on the blue and crimson of the Uhlans of the Guard! Ride with us! Drink with us! Tilt lances with us! Laugh with us! And if such be God's will—fight with us!"

"But—but …" Tom was utterly dumbfounded.

"There are no Buts. We like you. We want you. Come! Be our comrade in arms!"

"But"—stammered Tom "I know nothing about the army. I know nothing about …"

"You can ride, man! There's no better horseman in Germany than you. Why, how can you say no? You are young and healthy. Can't you feel the glory of it, the zest, the splendor of it? A soldier's life? A cavalryman! A dashing Uhlan!"

For a moment he was silent. He tossed down the whiskey.

Then he continued in an epic abandon, and deep down in his heart he was sincere:

"The army, Tom! The cavalry! The right life for a man like you, a man of the plains, a man on horseback!"

From the distance, drifting up from the Kurfürstendamm, came the many sounds of a brigade marching out to maneuver. Brasses and fifes and drums brayed and shrieked and thumped their separate notes, blending with the hollow tramp-tramp-tramp of drilled feet, the low, dramatic rumbling of the guns, the neighing of horses, the scraping of lance butt and sword scabbard on saddles.

The Baron threw open the window.

"The army!" he went on. "God, man, can't you feel it? Doesn't it give you a thrill? The tightened reins! The call of the trumpets! The thunder of the hoofs! And—if war should come—the shock against the enemy's phalanx, the curses and the slashings, the sudden numbness of the sword arm when the steel strikes horse or rider! Empty saddles! Dust! Blades that cross and slash and flicker! And then the reeling victor's fist! Then the waving of the enemy's captured pennant! Oh, the triumph, the glorious, glorious triumph of it!"

He paused. He gripped Tom's hands.

"Come! Be one of us!" he added in a tense whisper.

The young Westerner had been steadily thinking, and the more he thought, the more fascinating seemed the Baron's proposal.

It was not only the glamour of the army which captured his imagination. He did think of it. Assuredly. For he was young and eager.

Also there was his dry American sense of humor. What a lark it would be! He, Tom Graves, horse wrangler, in the blue and crimson of Prussia's crack Uhlan regiment. Gosh! Martin Wedekind and Alec Wynn and Newson Garrett and all the other fellows back home would open their eyes some!

''Herr Leutnant Tom Graves! ''

It was a scream!

Not only that. For there was Bertha. She was always speaking about the army, the officers, the gorgeous uniforms. Well—he studied himself complacently in the mirror which hung between the windows—he'd look all right in blue and crimson, with gold epaulettes, and a trailing, clanking, crooked cavalry saber.

And finally it would solve his financial difficulties. He would draw regular pay and save enough to fight the Yankee Doodle Glory litigation.

So there was no reason in the world why he should say no. There was every reason why he should say yes.

And he did say yes!

"Fine and dandy!" he cried enthusiastically. "I am with you! You just bet your boots I am with you!"

Then he had a sobering thought.

"Say, Baron," he went on, "are you sure the thing can be fixed?"

"Of course. I have already talked to Prince Ludwig Karl. We are anxious, very anxious, to have you in the army!"

And Krauss, who was standing in the doorway, smiled. He said to himself that there at least the Baron had spoken the unvarnished truth.