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had felt the same when still a child at school in Germany; but over the years he had found some cause for consolation. Was not the Fuehrer himself a little man? And Napoleon war far from a giant. Oh no, Fritz decided, smallness of stature would not stand in his way. For already he had this heroic-looking Eric in the palm of his hand. And how malleable he had turned out to be! For after the necessary number of drinks, when the quicksilver had reached the proper level in Eric's heated veins, Fritz had found out all he needed to know.

His easy success elated him greatly. It wasn't Eric, his comrade, whom he saw before him, but a veritable treasure which was there for the taking. There was the sparkle of gold-maybe even diamonds! Just a little more shaping and refining, and even Herr Breunbuhr would be impressed, and would stop looking at him with disdain, as though he were an inconsequential worm. Oh, no! Even the mighty Nemwitz would be compelled to give some thought to him. He would handle this affair so skillfully and adroitly that the fame of his maneuverings would reach as far as Berlin. Perhaps Goebbels himself would hear of it, Goebbels, the little club-footed man who raised his hand and towered in his rage, like Zeus about to throw the thunderbolts. The name of Fritz Opfenmundt would gleam like a new star, outshining Breunbuhr's constellation.

Yes, this was his hour! Fritz's eyes glowed with a drunken light. He had waited a long time for the chance to let that scoundrel Breunbuhr have it, to make him realize at last who Fritz Opfenmundt was! Never again would he be disposed of with a few inconsequential instructions, as though he were no more than a errand boy. No, he would see to it that this business with Eric was presented in such a light as to create a veritable sensation. The Third Reich wasn't