"Same as this morning--the eternal 'soupe.' The only variety in food is when dog-biscuit replaces bread.... Nothing to grumble at really, except the infernal monotony. Quantity is all right--in fact some fellows save up a lot of bread and biscuit and sell it in the town. (Eight days salle de police if you're caught.) But sometimes you feel you could eat anything in the wide world except Legion 'soupe,' bread and biscuit...."
After the second and last meal of the day, at about five o'clock, Rupert was introduced to the lavabo and its ways--particularly its ways in the matter of disappearing soap and vanishing "washing"--and, his first essay in laundry-work concluded, returned with Legionary John Bull and the Bucking Bronco for an hour or two of leather-polishing, accoutrement-cleaning and "Ironing" without an iron.
The room began to fill and was soon a scene of more or less silent industry. On his bed, the great Luigi Rivoli lay magnificently asleep, while, on neighbouring cots and benches, his weapons, accoutrements, boots and uniform received the attentions of Messieurs Malvin, Meyer, Tou-tou Boil-the-Cat, Dimitropoulos, Borges, Bauer, Hirsch, and others, his henchmen.
Anon the great man awoke, yawned cavernously, ejaculated "Dannazione" and sat up. One gathered that the condition of his mouth was not all that it might be, and that his head ached. Even he was not exempt from the penalties incurred by lesser men, and even he had to recognise the fact that a next-morning follows an evening-before. Certain denizens of the chambrée felt, and looked, uneasy, but were reassured by the reflection that there was still a stock of bleus unchastened, and available for the great man's needs and diversion. Rising, he roared "Oho!", smacked and flexed his muscles according to his evening ritual, and announced that a recruit might be permitted to fetch him water.
Feodor Kyrilovitch unobtrusively changed places with his brother Mikhail, whose bed was next to that of the bully.
"Here, dog," roared the Neapolitan, and brought his "quart" down with a right resounding blow upon the bare head of Feodor. Without a word the Russian took the mug and hurried to the nearest lavatory. Returning he handed it respectfully to Rivoli, and pointing into it said in broken Italian--
"There would appear to be a mark on the bottom of the Signor's cup."
The great man looked--and smiled graciously as he recognised a gold twenty-franc piece. "A thoroughly intelligent recruit," he added, turning to Malvin who nodded and smiled drily. It entered the mind of le bon Légionnaire Malvin that this recruit should also give an exhibition of his intelligence to le bon Légionnaire Malvin.
"Where's that fat pig from Olanda who can only whine 'Verstaan nie' when he is spoken to?" enquired Rivoli, looking round. "Let me see if I can 'Verstaan' him how to put my boots on smartly."
But, fortunately for himself, the Dutch recruit, Hans Djoolte, was not present.