This perpetual lack of money was, however, no joke to the sister-in-law either, as she was always having to put off and conciliate the creditors, and she joined in angrily: "It's the truth! You squander the money and we have to manage as best we can."
Heppner went round behind her and mockingly retorted: "So you're beginning to scold like your dear sister? It seems to be catching. But I'll tell you how it is: there was a good lot of the farewell beer left over yesterday, and I saved it up for myself. Now, who's right?"
He tapped his sister-in-law's round shoulder playfully, and added: "Who knows? Perhaps to-morrow I may give you quite a lot of money."
He was in a good temper. It had long been a grievance to him that Schumann--grumbling old plodder!--instead of packing up his few sticks and being drafted into the civil service, should have remained so long stuck fast to the battery, thus preventing his own promotion. Now at last the old man had disappeared, and he was certain of becoming sergeant-major.
To-day was a lucky day for him, he felt sure; and this must be taken advantage of: a little game must be arranged for the evening.
Therefore, he had taken care only to invite men on whom he could rely to this second instalment of the farewell drinking party: the sergeant-major of the fifth battery, who imitated his chief in drinking, and Trumpeter Henke of his own, the sixth battery, two seasoned gamblers. The two other members of the party were to be the landlord of the White Horse, and the fat baker, Kühn, who held the contract for the white bread supplied to the regiment. To the baker in particular he had allotted the _rôle_ of loser, as he had the most money.
At the gate it suddenly occurred to Heppner that it would be much pleasanter to walk the half-mile to the town in company, and he decided to fetch the trumpeter.
Sergeant Henke was a lively young fellow, with a fresh, rosy face, a flowing black beard and curly hair, rather beyond the regulation length. He was of a handsome soldierly appearance, and contrasted well with his wife, Lisbeth, a beautiful blonde, who with her slender figure always looked like a young girl.
This fair woman was blindly in love with her husband. She almost worshipped him, but he did not trouble himself much about her. He regarded himself as a great artist, because in the choir concerts he played the cornet solos, and always received much applause from the female part of the audience, and he considered that his marriage alone had prevented him from becoming a "celebrity." Once he had received a passionate love letter, signed by "a lady of high degree, who deplored with tears of blood" the dividing difference of rank between them. It was transparently the coarse work of a practical joker; but Henke in his conceit believed in the high-born heiress, and this dream quite turned his head. He ever afterwards posed as a fine gentleman, ogled all the elegant women of the town, and had hardly a glance left for his wife. She worked and pinched for him in order that he might be able to enjoy his aristocratic tastes, and thought herself happy because he bore with her. And he was always urging her to work and earn money, as he longed to become rich and be the equal of really fashionable people.