The truck was bouncing and the cans were banging. The noise was terrific and the darkness total. Stan got hold of a can. It was heavy, but with O'Malley's help he was able to lift it up and tip it over the edge. The contents poured out on the side of the road. Two more cans were dumped.
"There goes a lot of meals for the prisoners in the ghetto," Sim said and laughed.
"You mean to say the skunks feed prisoners garbage?" Stan asked.
"I've been told they let the prisoners of the lowest class pick over the garbage," Sim answered.
Stan felt his stomach begin to turn over. O'Malley said nothing. For once he was stumped for words. They moved the cans to the center and well forward and crouched beside them.
The truck rattled on through the night. Presently they saw lights ahead.
"According to my map," Sim said, "that should be a well-lighted inspection post. We better get into the cans."
The boys got into the cans. Stan kept his head well up out of the can. He meant to keep it up in the wind until it was absolutely necessary to duck down.
The truck swung in under a row of lights. Stan ducked down and held his nose. There was much guttural shouting. Several men moved around the truck. They poked bayonets among the cans and against them. Stan felt a blade strike the can he was in. The can gave out a dull clinking sound, indicating it was full. Stan grinned. Someone shouted an order and the truck rolled on.
As soon as darkness closed over them the boys popped out of the cans. O'Malley was talking to himself in very rich Irish.