I knew the
Iron Cross was given to a man only for gallant conduct in time of war at
the peril of his life.
A desire to know a few details beset me. Humplmayer, the scholarly art
dealer, was at my side. He had it too--the Iron Cross of the first
class.
"You won that lately?" I began, touching the ribbon.
"Yes," he said; "only the other day I received it."
"And for what, might I ask?" said I, pressing my advantage.
"Oh," he said, "I've been out quite a bit in the night air lately. You
know we Germans are desperately afraid of night air."
Later I learned--though not from Humplmayer--that he had for a period of
weeks done scout work in an automobile in hostile territory; which meant
that he rode in the darkness over the strange roads of an alien country,
exposed every minute to the chances of ambuscade and barbed-wire
mantraps and the like. I judge he earned his bauble.
I tried Von Theobald next--a lynx-faced, square-shouldered young man of
the field guns. To him I put the question: "What have you done, now, to
merit the bestowal of the Cross?"
"Well," he said--and his smile was born of embarrassment, I thought--
"there was shooting once or twice, and I--well, I did not go away.
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