"What ails you, Kelly?" asked the steward.
"Nothing," Kelly answered defiantly.
"Then you'll have to discover an ailment soon," frowned the steward, "or I'll ask Sergeant Overton to report you for shamming sick report."
"Why, truth to tell, I didn't feel very well," asserted Kelly. "But that was two hours ago. I'm feeling fine now."
"Let me see your tongue," ordered the steward. He also "took" Kelly's pulse and noted his respirations, entering all this information on his record.
"Any pain anywhere, Kelly?"
"Sorra the bit," promptly rejoined the soldier.
"You're just a little off-key," went on the hospital steward, with a professional air. "Not much; still, you'd better have some medicine."
"I can't take salts," protested Kelly. "They make me sea-sick. Give me salts, and ye'll have to find a bed for me here, and take care of me for a few days."
"Quinine is about your size," replied the steward, reaching for a five-pound can of the stuff.