After a cordial greeting from Barop, we had desks assigned us in the schoolroom, which were supplied with piles of books, writing materials, and other necessaries.  Ludo’s bed stood in the same dormitory with mine.  Both were hard enough, but this had not damped our gay spirits, and when we were taken to the other boys we were soon playing merrily with the rest.

The first difficulty occurred after supper, and proved to be one of the most serious I encountered during my stay in the school.

My mother had unpacked our trunks and arranged everything in order.  Among the articles were some which were new to the boys, and special notice was attracted by several pairs of kid gloves and a box of pomade which belonged in our pretty leather dressing-case, a gift from my grandmother.

Dandified, or, as we should now term them, “dudish” affairs, were not allowed at Keilhau; so various witticisms were made which culminated when a pupil of about our own age from a city on the Weser called us Berlin pomade-pots.  This vexed me, but a Berlin boy always has an answer ready, and mine was defiant enough.  The matter might have ended here had not the same lad stroked my hair to see how Berlin pomade smelt.  From a child nothing has been more unendurable than to feel a stranger’s hand touch me, especially on the head, and, before I was aware of it, I had dealt my enemy a resounding slap.  Of course, he instantly rushed at me, and there would have been a violent scuffle had not the older pupils interfered.  If we wanted to do anything, we must wrestle.  This suited my antagonist, and I, too, was not averse to the contest, for I had unusually strong arms, a well-developed chest, and had practised wrestling in the Berlin gymnasium.

The struggle began under the direction of the older pupils, and the grip on which I had relied did not fail.  It consisted in clutching the antagonist just above the hips.  If the latter were not greatly my superior, and I could exert my whole strength to clasp him to me, he was lost.  This time the clever trick did its duty, and my adversary was speedily stretched on the ground.  I turned my back on him, but he rose, panting breathlessly.  “It’s like a bear squeezing one.”  In reply to every question from the older boys who stood around us laughing, he always made the same answer, “Like a bear.”

I had reason to remember this very common incident in boy life, for it gave me the nickname used by old and young till after my departure.  Henceforward I was always called “the bear.”  Last year I had the pleasure of receiving a visit from Dr. Bareuther, a member of the Austrian Senate and a pupil of Keilhau.  We had not met for forty years, and his first words were:  “Look at me, Bear.  Who am I?”

My brother had brought his nickname with him, and everybody called him Ludo instead of Ludwig.  The pretty, bright, agile lad, who also never flinched, soon became especially popular, and my companions were also fond of me, as I learned, when, during the last years of my stay at the institute, they elected me captain of the first Bergwart—­that is, commander-in-chief of the whole body of pupils.