the corners; there were dusty, businesslike columns of infantry, going
nowhere and to no purpose. And they one and all seemed to be WOUND
UP--for that service--and apparently always in the same place. In the
band of their caps--invariably of one pattern--was a button, in the
centre of which was a square opening or keyhole. The consul was always
convinced that through this keyhole opening, by means of a key, the
humblest caporal wound up his file, the Hauptmann controlled his
lieutenants and non-commissioned officers, and even the general himself,
wearing the same cap, was subject through his cap to a higher moving
power. In the suburbs, when the supply of soldiers gave out, there
were sentry-boxes; when these dropped off, there were "caissons," or
commissary wagons. And, lest the military idea should ever fail from
out the Schlachtstadt's burgher's mind, there were police in uniform,
street-sweepers in uniform; the ticket-takers, guards, and sweepers at
the Bahnhof were in uniform,--but all wearing the same kind of cap, with
the probability of having been wound up freshly each morning for their
daily work. Even the postman delivered peaceful invoices to the consul
with his side-arms and the air of bringing dispatches from the field
of battle; and the consul saluted, and felt for a few moments the whole
weight of his consular responsibility.

Yet, in spite of this military precedence, it did not seem in the least
inconsistent with the decidedly peaceful character of the town, and this
again suggested its utter unreality; wandering cows sometimes got mixed
up with squadrons of cavalry, and did not seem to mind it; sheep passed
singly between files of infantry, or preceded them in a flock when on
the march; indeed, nothing could be more delightful and innocent than
to see a regiment of infantry in heavy marching order, laden with every
conceivable thing they could want for a week, returning after a cheerful
search for an invisible enemy in the suburbs, to bivouac peacefully