Reaching the cook-house, he plunged into the subject of breakfast. Had the cook anything to eat?
"Anything to eat?" replied that worthy. "Well, rather. Always got something for you, Mr. Helmar!" his greasy face smiling with a look of pride at the man who had so distinguished himself on the hill yesterday.
"I'm beastly hungry, and am afraid I'm a bit late," said George apologetically. "But I was so tired that I overslept myself."
"Late? Not a bit of it—leastways, not for you. Here y'are, I been a-savin' this for you," and the benevolent-looking "slushy" dived into an oven and produced a piece of steak and some onions on a tin plate.
George accepted this mark of extreme favour with the greatest pleasure. The steak smelt savoury, although, by the looks of it, he thought it would have done credit to a shoemaker's shop; but he fell to with such a healthy appetite that the cook was still further pleased.
"'Ere, 'av a drop o' my kauffee," he said, holding out a pannikin of the steaming liquid; "there's a goodish 'stick' in it," he added, with a knowing wink.
George accepted it without demur. He did not care for brandy, but he felt that he was under an obligation to the man and would not hurt his feelings by refusing what the soldiers considered a priceless treasure.
While George was discussing his solid breakfast the cook looked on, chattering away about the doings of yesterday, avoiding with soldier-like tact Helmar's share in the proceedings; but just as the meal was over and he was about to depart, he said—
"S'pose you won't be 'avin' many more meals along o' us?"
"What do you mean?" asked George, in surprise.