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"
The soldier spoke last. He is a captain of field artillery, a member of
a distinguished Prussian family, and one of the most noted big-game
hunters in Europe. Three weeks ago, in front of Charleroi, a French
sharpshooter put a bullet in him. It passed through his left forearm,
pierced one lung and lodged in the muscles of his breast, where it lies
imbedded. In a week from now he expects to rejoin his command.
To look at him you would never guess that he had so recently been
wounded; his color is high and he moves with the stiff, precise
alertness of the German army man. He is still wearing the coat he wore
in the fight; there are two ragged little holes in the left sleeve and a
puncture in the side of it; and it is spotted with stiff, dry, brown
stains.
"I don't presume to know anything about the political or commercial
aspects of this war," he said over his beer mug; "but I do know this:
War was forced on us by these other Powers. They were jealous of us and
they made the Austrian-Servian quarrel their quarrel.


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