Anyway, the "cooker" lived up to its reputation for once, though a little behind its advertised schedule in making water boil. Curly passed around the result of his efforts in the form of an ammunition tin half full of fairly good tea. Each took a good swig, lighted a Woodbine cigarette,—they had "come up" with the rations the night before—and settled back against the damp earthen walls of the dugout to listen.
It was Dick's turn for a story. He cleared his throat two or three times and said—nothing. A chorus of "Come on, let's have it," from the rest of the crew did not help matters. In desperation Dick said, "I guess you fellows'll have to excuse me this time, I can't seem to remember a thing."
"Yank" helped him out with, "Say, Dick, tell us about Jim, the platoon mascot you used to have."
"Sailor Bill or Hungry could tell it better. Even Ikey knows it," replied Dick.
But after much coaxing from Happy, Curly and Yank, Dick started in.
JIM—SOLDIER OF THE KING