“Do we spend the cash?” asked Bob.
“It isn’t usual. It’s turned back into the company fund, and used to buy extras for special dinners—ice cream and the like.”
While the ration spoken of is supposed to be issued to each soldier, in reality it is not. He has to take the meal the cook prepares each day, and this is supervised by the mess sergeant. This official is given the task of looking after the kitchen. He is supposed to save a little here and there, where he can, and convert mutton into ham and eggs on occasions, and save enough on the prunes to have them turn into lemon pie once in a while.
All this Ned, Bob, and Jerry learned as they went along. They finished their kitchen police work, and were relieved from duty, taking the occasion to go to the Y. M. C. A. headquarters to write some letters.
“I wonder how things are in Cresville,” observed Bob, as he carefully sealed one envelope, and took care that his chums did not see the address.
“I had a paper from there the other day,” said Jerry. “The old town seemed to be getting along in spite of our absence.”
“No more fires?” asked Ned.
“No; didn’t read of any.”
“Crooked Nose wasn’t arrested for stealing the old Frenchman’s money, or my father’s watch, or Mrs. Hopkins’ brooch, was he?” inquired Bob.
“No. But the article said that the old man insisted that he did lose a big sum on the occasion of the blaze. He tells the same story he told us, but I guess few believe he had much money.”