the cook-house. We were growing impatient, for the cook paid no attention to us.
Finally Katczinsky called out to him: “Say, Heinrich, open up the soup-kitchen. Anyone can see the beans are done.”
He shook his head sleepily: “You must all be there first.” Tjaden grinned: “We are all here.”
The sergeant-cook still took no notice. “That may do for you,” he said. “But where are the others?”
“They won’t be fed by you to-day. They’re either in the dressing-station or pushing up daisies.”
The cook was quite disconcerted as the facts dawned on him. He was staggered. “And I have cooked for one hundred and fifty men———”
Kropp poked him in the ribs. “Then for once we’ll have enough. Come on, begin!”
Suddenly a vision came over Tjaden. His sharp, mousey features began to shine, his eyes grew small with cunning, his jaws twitched, and he whispered hoarsely: “Man! then you’ve got bread for one hundred and fifty men too, eh?”
The sergeant-cook nodded, absent-minded and bewildered.
Tjaden seized him by the tunic. “And sausage?”
Ginger nodded again.
Tjaden’s chaps quivered. “Tobacco too?”
6
