“We always do on Sunday,” said Jerry.
On Sundays in camp, reveille, mess and sick calls are one hour later than on week days, giving more opportunity for slumber, and on Saturdays the first call for drill is not until 7:35 instead of 6:50, which is also a little relief.
“Yes, there’ll be a good dinner to-morrow,” resumed Bob, as he passed the ice chest, having occasion to open it. “Plenty of chicken and the fixings.”
The Sunday dinner in camp, in fact, is usually the long-looked-for meal of the week, and the supper, likewise, is more elaborate than usual. The feeding of the boys of the army is a science, and it is worked out to what might be called mathematical exactness.
For instance, at Camp Dixton each enlisted man received, or was each day credited with, what is called the “garrison ration.” This consisted of a certain amount of fresh beef, flour, baking powder, bran, potatoes, prunes, coffee, sugar, evaporated milk, condiments, butter, lard, syrup and flavoring extract.
Of course each man did not actually receive these things, for, if he had, he would have had trouble in getting them cooked, or in shape to eat. But that was his allowance and he was entitled to it or its equivalent, each article mentioned being issued in certain specific measure or weight.
The soldiers were allowed to trade what they did not want for things they did. They could swap beef for mutton, bacon for hash and so on. They could have rice for beans, or dried apples for prunes, there being substitutes for almost every ration issued.
“And a nice thing about it, too,” said Jerry, when he and his chums were discussing it, “is that you don’t have to eat it all.”
“Don’t tell Bob that, it’ll scare him,” suggested Ned.
“Well, I mean you can save some,” Jerry explained, “and turn it into cash.”