“Yes,” said Punch thoughtfully, as he trudged on as close as he could get to his companion. “It’s a bad lookout for them, comrade; but somehow I seem to think more of Mr Contrabando. I liked him. Good luck to the poor chap! And when we get a bit farther on we will pitch upon a snug spot where there’s water, and make a bit of breakfast.”
“Breakfast! How?” said Pen, smiling; but, wearied out and faint with his sufferings, it was a very poor exhibition of mirth—a sort of smile and water, like that of a sun-gleam upon a drizzly day. “Breakfast!” he said, half-scornfully, “You are always thinking of eating, Punch.”
“That I ain’t, only at bugle-time, when one blows ‘soup and tater’ for breakfast or dinner. I say, do you know what the cavalry chaps say the trumpet call is for stables?”
“No,” said Pen quietly; and then to humour his companion he tried to smile again, as the boy said, “Oh, I know lots of them! This is what the trumpet says for the morning call:—
“Ye lads that are able
Now come to the stable,
And give all your horses some water and hay–y–y–y!”
And the boy put his half-crippled fist to his lips and softly rang out the cavalry call.
“Punch!” whispered Pen angrily, “how can you be such a fool?”
“Tchah! Nobody can hear us. I wanted to cheer you up a bit. Well, it has stirred you up. There: all right, comrade. For’ard! We are safe enough here. But, I say, what made you jump upon me and tell me I was always thinking about eating when I said breakfast?”
“Because this is no time to think of eating and drinking.”
“Oh my! Ain’t it?” chuckled the boy. “Why, when you are on the march in the enemy’s country you ought to be always on the forage, and it’s the time to think of breakfast whenever you get the chance.”