Sitting bolt upright in the little tent, O. D. took account of the fact that Jimmy was all ready and showed signs of having been up some time.
“You have been up and around, Jimmy; why didn’t you wake me up before?” asked O. D.
“What’s the use? You’ll get enough early rising before you’re through with this outfit. Might as well beat the army out of a little sleep when you can. When you come down to brass tacks about it, every time you cushay late and monjay a lot you’re makin’ yourself stronger and a better man for the army work. Cushay all you can, O. D. We had to get up at six and feed them soft-headed horses and bring ’em down to a little lake to water. Come on if you’re set and we’ll beat it up to the mess-line.”
O. D. and Jimmy, mess-kits and cups in hand, found their way through the woods to the long line of hungry men that extended from the smoking, rolling kitchen to a point almost one hundred yards away.
O. D. had never looked upon such a motley group of American soldiers since entering the army. Most of the boys were in their shirt-sleeves. Some wore leggings and some did not. Half of them did not have caps or hats on. They were all mud-splashed. Everybody was either talking or laughing.
“When are we goin’ to eat?” asked one man near the end of the line. A rattle of mess-kits followed that question, and soon the entire mess-line began to bawl out the cooks and kitchen police in general.
“Look at the ears on him!” shouted a Yank. A chorus of laughs followed.
O. D., falling in line behind Jimmy, heard that remark and turned red in the face.
“Why did he say that, Jimmy? Are my ears big, or what?” he asked.
Jimmy laughed.