Flutters had not paid the least attention to this last interruption. He was thinking that, after all, the life of a friendless little circus performer, sorry and comfortless and forlorn as it was, might be less full of hardship than a prisoner's. It was a very grand thing to have one's freedom, and he had always had that—that is, he might at any time have run away if he chose.
“What did they give you to eat, Mr. Harry?” he asked, by way of comparing bills of fare.
“Little that was fit to eat, Flutters; but I can tell you exactly if you would like to know,” and Harry drew from his pocket-book a scrap of folded paper. “This was our list of supplies. I wrote it down the first week on board, and knew it quite by heart all too soon. I think I could repeat it now.”
“Suppose you try,” and Josephine taking the paper from his hand, Harry at once began to recite, with the satisfied air of a child that perfectly knows its lesson:
“On Sunday.—1 pound of biscuit, 1 pound of pork, and 1 pint of peas.
“On Monday.—1 pound of biscuit, 1 pint of oatmeal, 2 ounces butter.
“On Tuesday.—1 pound of biscuit, 2 pounds beef.
“On Wednesday.—1 1/2 pounds of flour and 2 ounces suet.
“On Thursday.—Same as Sunday.
“On Friday.—Same as Monday.