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knickers.’
    ‘Splendid!’
    ‘Oh, children, do help!’ wailed the mother. ‘Just listen. I believe Father’s killing Erich …’
§ VIII
    ‘Governor overslept?’ asked old Rabause, the head stableman, sitting on the feed chest and kicking his clogs against the sides. ‘Time’s getting on.’
    When Otto entered twenty horses had turned their heads, neighing expectantly. But they knew he was not their master, the one who brought food, and they turned their disappointed heads away. Only the grey pawed the ground with more determination than ever.
    ‘He’s coming presently,’ replied Otto, sitting down beside Rabause. ‘He’s been up a long time.’
    ‘Then why hasn’t he fed the grey?’ wondered the head stableman. ‘He never misses.’ He laughed. ‘The Governor thinks I don’t notice.’
    ‘It’s nothing to do with us, Rabause. It’s Father’s horses and Father’s corn – he can do what he likes with them.’
    ‘Did I deny it, Ottchen? I only said he feeds them on the quiet and that’s true. The boss has his favourites however much he pretends to treat everyone according to merit.’
    ‘I know nothing about that,’ said Otto distantly. ‘I do what Father wants.’
    ‘Just what I say, Ottchen,’ grinned the old man. ‘But for all that you’re not his favourite either.’
    For a while they were silent. Then Rabause cleared his throat. ‘Well, Otto, have you carved my pipe bowl yet?’
    ‘I haven’t had time. You know I have to be so careful, and not let Father see.’
    ‘Make a good job of it,’ begged Rabause. ‘I want it like my Ajax. You know – a blaze down one side of his muzzle.’
    ‘I’ll do it, as soon as I have time.’
    ‘You see, Otto – you’ve once again forgotten to remind me that I should use the formal “you” when talking with you. 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,