Erna.—My sentiments exactly, but as far as cold is concerned I’d as soon live in a hen coop.
Lena.—How you talk, Erna! Don’t forget that we are dining with real officers.
Erna.—Why be sensitive! It’s the truth, and I fear me, the eternal truth. Harshaw is a hen coop, and we two poor hens will perch here for the remainder of our lives. As for the officers, at least one of them is on the verge of clapping his wings and flying off. He is dying to turn his back on Harshaw.
Rudolph.—That’s me!
Erna.—And the other is aching to moult his uniform.
Burris (Joyfully)—Your gracious pardon, but I am no longer a soldier. I am wearing my uniform two or three hours overtime, but I am joyfully anticipating my release. Tomorrow I shall spread myself all over the farm, I shall feel my beloved soil under my feet, and I shall put my hands on the machinery. I don’t need to say any more. My precious Harshaw. From the bottom of my heart I rejoice that it is mine once more. (Softly.) Why, I was born here!
(Lena gratefully extends her hand across table blindly. He seizes it and kisses it.)
Erna.—And now, lieutenant, you may tell us about the glorious deed that won you this enviable distinction on your bosom.
Rudolph.—Ja, wie, ist gekommen?
Burris.—It was last August a few days after a disastrous battle. We were hastily falling back on Zsparin towards Dubow. The Arnauts—the Turks were right after us.
Rudolph.—I’ll wager you didn’t relish it then. Today it’s different, Gott sei Dank!
Burris.—With my division I was on advance guard. Our orders were to discover and make safe a side approach to Tuzle. A Bosnian, who was thoroughly acquainted with the country, acted as our guide. But hardly had we advanced ten kilometers into the wilderness, before we realized that we were trapped. We found ourselves in a sort of basin scarcely big enough to hold all our men. Our captain, not suspecting trickery at once, ordered a halt. We gladly obeyed his orders as we sorely needed rest. But just as we had stacked our pyramids . . .
Lena.—What are pyramids?
Erna (Rejoicing in superior knowledge).—Guns stood up this way, see?
