"Yes."
"It was his shirt."
"But how——"
"It was this way. You know how hard it has been to put up with 'government straight' as a steady diet, don't you?"
I nodded. As "government straight" meant the extremely simple bill of fare provided by Uncle Sam, consisting of salt beef, pork, hardtack, beans, and canned butter, with an occasional taste of dried fruit, I was compelled to admit my acquaintance with it.
"Well, the other night I got to dreaming that I was back in New York," resumed "Kid." "I dreamt I dropped into a bang-up restaurant and ordered beefsteak, fried potatoes, pie, and——"
A groan came from one of the gun's crew, who was within hearing, and "Kid" lowered his voice.
"Hit him where he lived, I guess," he chuckled. "Well, I woke up so hungry that I couldn't stand it any longer. I looked up the Jap and struck him for a hand-out. He wanted a shirt, and I wanted something to eat, and we made a bargain. I brought him my extra mustering shirt—it was too large for me, anyway—and he gave me some bread and butter, cold potted tongue, three bananas, and——"
"For mercy's sake, stow that," muttered a voice from back of the gun-mount. "Don't we suffer enough?"
"That's 'Hand-Out' Hood," grinned "Kid." "He's kicking because he didn't get it. Well, I gave the shirt to the Jap, and what did he do but lose it. My name was on the collar, and 'Jimmy Legs' put me on the report. The 'old man' was easy, though. Gave me four hours extra duty. I asked him if I couldn't work it out in the wardroom pantry."