Mr. Vench took Terry’s plate and gravely approached the cook. But as soon as that worthy saw the particular dent in the tin plate he shook his head wisely.
“Nothing doing, Mr. Vench,” he said. “That is Mackson’s plate. You don’t work that game here!”
“Thank you, sir!” Vench murmured, while the cadets enjoyed the failure of the move to the utmost. With that Vench turned away. But at that moment the cook was called to the far end of the mess tent. With swiftness that was commendable Vench reached over the stove and heaped the plate. Then he sped back to the delighted Terry.
“Ram that in your musket and keep still!” he said, as he took his place.
Terry needed no second invitation. He dug into the pile of beans with alacrity. And in a moment the sharp voice of the cook reached him.
“Mr. Mackson, where did you get those beans?”
Terry looked blank. “I am not at all sure, sir,” he answered, politely. “I had just turned my back, and when I looked around there they were, right under my nose!”
“Did you come and take them while I was not looking?” cried the cook.
“Haven’t been out of my seat since you broke my heart with your refusal,” was the answer. “And you didn’t give any to Mr. Vench, so it is up to you to figure out how I got the beans!”
“Bring them here, Mr. Mackson!” ordered the mess sergeant.