"I'm afraid the cupboard is bare," O'Reilly acknowledged.
"They're getting ready to slaughter another guttapercha ox," Branch said, gloomily. "He's a veteran of the Ten Years' War. That means STEW again! STEW! One puncture-proof, rubber ox and a bushel of sweet-potatoes for four hundred men!"
"Do you know what I want for dinner?" Norine inquired. "Lamb chops with green peas, some nice white bread, a salad, and coffee."
The three men looked at her anxiously. Judson stirred uneasily.
"That's what I want. I don't expect to get it."
With a sigh of relief the captain exclaimed, "I thought you were giving your order."
"Goodness, no!" With a laugh the girl seated herself upon her one camp-chair, inviting her callers to dispose themselves on the ground about her. "If you can stand the food, I dare say I can. Now then, tell me what you've been doing since you left Cubitas. I've been frightened to death that some of you would be hurt. That's one reason why I've been working night and day helping to get the hospitals in shape. I can't bear to think of our boys being wounded."
"Not much chance of OUR getting shot," O'Reilly told her. "But
Leslie—he needs a good talking to. He has gone into the hero business."
Branch uttered a disdainful grunt. "Nothing of the sort. I'm a sick man; if I'd rather get shot than suffer a slow death from neglect, it's my own business, isn't it? Imagine feeding an invalid on boiled bicycle tires! Gee! I'd like to have a meal of nice nourishing ptomaines for a change. Hero? Humph!"
Norine eyed the complainant critically, then said: "The diet agrees with you. You look better than you did."