"Ach, nein!" protested Otto, evidently endeavoring to set Jimmie right. "My regiment is to return. We have done our work here."
"I thought so all the time," muttered Jimmie. "You may have been in America a while, but you haven't got wise to the great game of 'bluff' the Americans pull off once in a while. You're easy."
"What is dot?" inquired Otto. "I did not hear what you say."
"I say," replied Jimmie in a louder tone, "I'm hungry. I want something to eat, and I'm curious to know what is in that bundle you are carrying so carefully. Is it dynamite or something?"
"Nein; it is the Russian Cossack uniform you wore. I shall burn it when we arrive at the kitchen you see ahead of us."
"Oh, so you don't like Cossack uniforms any better than I do."
"It is orders," was the German's simple statement.
"Well, here we are at the cook's place," announced Jimmie as the two drew near a movable kitchen equipment in the street.
A few words addressed to the person in charge of the kitchen brought forth a smiling response. In a moment Jimmie was supplied with a small dish of nourishing stew of cabbages and beans.
He devoured the contents of the dish with an appetite, and gladly accepted the cup of black unsweetened coffee that was tendered.