“But what about your relatives in England—will they think it suitable?”
I made no reply. I had come to ask questions, not to supply information.
“About my brother—how is he?”
“Ah, it’s a sad business—such a nice young fellow!”
“Is he at all—at all—reconciled?” I faltered.
“No, he is taking it terribly hard—does not eat, does not speak, and they say he does not sleep. He has lost seven pounds in weight; if he goes on like this we must put him in hospital.”
“What does he have to eat?” I inquired.
The official turned about, took down a card from the wall and, without a word, handed it to me for reference. Glancing over it I read: “Every European prisoner is provided with a tin plate, mug and spoon. The following is the daily dietary, prescribed for a European prisoner on hard labour.”
“Hard labour!” I read aloud, and looked at the official interrogatively, who nodded in reply.
The list further continued: “Bread 24 oz., rice 8 oz., beef or fish 10 oz., vegetables 8 oz., tea 1/4 oz., sugar 1/2 oz., salt 3/4 oz., condiments ditto, milk 4 oz.”