“No more beans for a starving man?” Terry inquired, in dismay.
“No more for you anyway. I don’t know why you should be starving, I’m sure.”
“All right,” returned the red-headed one, calmly. “My mother will get even with you!”
“What do you mean, your mother will?” cried the cook, staring.
“When my body is shipped home, and she learns that her darling boy starved to death in the camp, she will spend the rest of her life calling down vengeance upon the head of the hard-headed and hard-hearted cook that turned him away with tears in his eyes!” was the answer. The mess tent shook with the laugh that went up. But the cook was prepared to answer him back.
“You’re right about the cook turning him away with tears in his eyes,” the cook said. “It brings tears to my eyes to see the hole in the bean pile when you get eating!”
Terry retired thoughtfully, paying no heed to the mocking gibes which greeted him on all sides. After a moment he looked at Vench, who was eating across the table from him. Vench had just pushed his plate to one side.
“How many plates of beans did you have, Raoul?” Terry whispered.
“Two was enough for me,” returned the little one.
“My son, heaven’s blessings upon you! Just take my plate and hit the trail for the cook!”