"But it was five o'clock in the morning!"
"It was new cake," said Ewins; "he'd just baked it."
"But you weren't supposed to be on duty."
"No, sir," answered Ewins.
"Wouldn't 'Crumbs'—Private Sims—know you were off duty?" probed John.
Ewins smiled again.
"He don't know much about soldiering, sir; they never do."
John had further talk with the chief gunner, which talk grew more and more technical as Ewins noticed John's interest in his work. But after a good many questions it still seemed to John that "Crumbs" walking about with cake at five o'clock in the morning showed an excessive benevolence. He felt he wanted to make the acquaintance of "Crumbs." And before going back to the Colonel in the mess-room, he looked in at the bake-house, a single-storied building next to the kitchen.
"Crumbs" was in a white apron and a white cap when John entered and found him at work. The bake-house was dark, the air warm and fragrant with a scent of freshly-baked loaves. "Crumbs," with flour on his eyelashes, and a heavy, drooping moustache, also powdered with flour, turned as John entered. In his hands he held a big iron tray of newly-baked loaves. John introduced himself. He felt that every step he made must be made with infinite caution.
"You've got a fine bakehouse here, Sims."