But here an end was put to the discussion by some of the boys without crying, "Dinner!"
"Dinner!" repeated Jack. "Hurrah! let's go and draw our rations."
Three or four young volunteers now came into the tent, and, opening their haversacks, drew forth their tin plates, knives and forks. Frank did the same, and observing that they all took their tin cups, he took his also, and followed them, with quite as much curiosity as appetite, to the cook-shop, where a large piece of bread and a thick slice of boiled beef was dealt out to each, together with a cup of coffee.
"How droll it seems to eat rations!" said Frank, on their return, seating himself on his bed,—a tick filled with straw,—and using his lap for a table.
The bread was sweet; but the beef was of not quite so fine a quality as Frank had been used to at home and the coffee was not exactly like his mother's.
"Here, have some milk," said Jack. "I've an account open with this woman"—a wrinkled old creature, who came into the tent with a little girl, bearing baskets of cakes and fruits, and a can of milk.
"No, I thank you," said Frank. "I may as well begin with the fare I shall have to get used to some time, for I mean to send all my pay home to my folks except what I'm actually obliged to use myself."
"You'll be a goose if you do!" retorted Jack. "I shan't send home any of mine. I'm my own man now, ye see, and what I earn of Uncle Sam I'm going to have a gallus old time with, you may bet your life on that!"
Frank drew a long breath, for he felt that the time had now come to have the talk with his friend which Mr. Winch had requested.
"I saw your father, this morning, Jack."