That other person was sitting
at the head of the table, and he was of distinctly a different class from
Hirsch and his friends. He was a young man, fair and well built, and as
obviously a soldier as though he were wearing his uniform. His clothes
were well cut, his hands shapely and white. Some instinct told me what to
do. I stood to the salute, and I saw a glance of satisfaction pass
between the two men.
"Your name is Paul Schmidt?" the man at the table asked me.
"Yes, sir!" I answered.
"You served at Mayence?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Under?"
"Colonel Hausman, sir, thirteenth regiment."
"You have your papers?"
I passed over the little packet which Guest had given me. My questioner
studied them carefully, glancing up every now and then at me. Then he
folded them up and laid them upon the table.
"You speak German with an English accent," he remarked, looking at me
keenly.
"I have lived nearly all my life in America," I reminded him.
"You are sure," he said, "that you understand the significance of your
request to join the No.
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