“He just missed my oration,” deplored Bob.
“Run after him and tell him about it,” laughed Roger.
“Some other time. I’ve got to attend a sewing-bee at barracks and I can’t play along the way. I’ve a date with a needle and thread and a few buttons.”
“With fingers weary and worn,
And eye-lids heavy and red,
A Sammy sat on his little cot
And counted the knots in his thread!”
caroled Bob. “That’s me; Bobby, the Beautiful Seamstress, or Sewing on Buttons Against Heavy Odds. You certainly learn a lot of useful trades in the Army.”
Returned to barracks, all four soon busied themselves in the going over of their effects. Saturday morning meant the weekly inspection of their cots and equipment by an officer from the regimental hospital, whose practiced eyes missed nothing in the way of defects. Thus far no one of them had failed to be in readiness for him. Nor did they intend that he should find anything to criticize.