The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, 1931-12-02

A Story Of the Aftermath
or the World War
CHAPTER As

Ernst, I must speak with
you a moment" says my father.
/ can guess what is coming.
For days he has been going
about with an anxious air,
dropping hints. But I have al
ways escaped him until now,
for I am not often at home.
We 60 to my room. He sits
down on the sofa and looks
uncomfortable. I'VE are wor-
ried about your future, Ernst"
I produce a box Of cigars
from the bookcase and offer
them to him. His face bright
ems a little. They are good
cigars-I had them from Karl,
and Karl smokes no beech leaf.
Have you really given up
your position as teacher"
he asks.
I nod.
"And why did you do that,
may I ask?"
/ shrug. my shoulders. How
should I even begin to explain
it to him? We are two utterly
different men and have got
along well together thus far
only because we have not un-
derStood each other at all.
And what do you propose
doing now?" he goes on.
"Oh, anything" I say. cts
all one to me-"
He looks at me shocked and
begins to talk about a good
and respected calling. about
getting on and making a place
in life for myself. I listen
to him sympathetically but am
bored. How strange that this
man on the sofa here should
be the father who formerly
regulated my life! Yet he was
not able to look after me in
the years out there; he could
not even have helped me in
the barracks-any N. C. o.
there carried more weight than
he-I had to get through as
best as I could by myself and
1t was a matter of entire in
difference whether he existed
or not.
A Glass of COgnac
When he has finished I pour
him out q glass of cognac.
Now listen. Father" say and
sit down over against him;
you may be right in what you
say, But you see, have
learned how to live in a hole in
the ground on a crust of bread
and little drop of thin soup.
And so long as there was no
Smelling l was quite content.
An old hut seemed to me to
be positive luxury and q straw
mattress in the rest area was
paradise. So you see, the mere
fact that I am still alive and
there is no Smelling, that is
enough for me for the moment.
What little I need to eat and
drink I can rake together all
right; for the rest there is my
whole life before me-"
EYES," he objects, but that
Is no life, a bare hand-to-mouth
existence like that
Every man to his taste" I
say. ITO me it would seem no
life to be able to say at the
finish that had entered every
day for. 80 years the same
schoolroom or the same office"
Rather astonished. he replies,
':It's 20 years now that I have
been going to the carton fac
tory, yet I have always con.
trived to be my own master"
II don't want to contrive to
be anything, Father; all I want
!. is to live"
Ind I have lived. and up
rightly and respectfully too"
he says with an accession of
pride. 1T wasn't for nothing
I was elected to the Chamber
Of Commerce"
He Can Work
"Then be thankful that you
have had it so easy" I retort.
But you must do something,
you know" he complains.
II can get job for the pres
ent with one of my army pals;
as a matter of fact, he has al
ready offered me one" I say.
THAT will bring in all I need"
He shakes his head. And
for that you would give up a
good civil service job!"
II have often had to give up
things before now, Father"
He puffS away at his cigar
distressfully. "And even assured
of a pension, tool"
"Ach," I say, laug h n g,
where's the soldier will live to
see so? There are things in our
bones that will only show them
selves later-we'll all have
packed up before then, don't you
worry."-With the best will in
the world, I cannot believe I
shall reach so. I have seen too
many men die at 20.
! smoke away thoughtfully
and look at my father. still
see that this is my father, but
also can see he Is just a kindly,
somewhat older man, rathez.'
cautions and pedantic, whose
-~mm~~ smnsmD co