" There were peasant-lads who had crammed
themselves through their Intermediate at a spurt, and now wore the
College cap above their rough grey homespun, and dreamed of getting
through in no time, and turning into great men with starched cuffs and
pince-nez. There were pale young enthusiasts, too, who would probably
end as actors; and there were also quondam actors, killed by the
critics, but still sufficiently alive, it seemed, "to be engineers." And
as the young fellows hurried on their gay and careless way through the
town, an older man here and there might look round after them with a
smile of some sadness. It was easy to say what fate awaited most of
them. College ended, they would be scattered like birds of passage
throughout the wide world, some to fall by sunstroke in Africa, or
be murdered by natives in China, others to become mining kings in the
mountains of Peru, or heads of great factories in Siberia, thousands of
miles from home and friends. The whole planet was their home. Only a few
of them--not always the shining lights--would stay at home, with a post
on the State railways, to sit in an office and watch their salaries
mount by increments of L12 every fifth year.
"That's a devil of a fellow, that brother of yours that's here," said
Klaus Brock to Peer one day, as they were walking into town together
with their books under their arms.
"Now, look here, Klaus, once for all, be good enough to stop calling
him my brother.
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