"The Rum Ration," cried John. "Hear, hear. Loud cries of 'Down with Pussyfoot!'"
"Nothing of the sort," I said. "'It was the thought of the sweet simple girls at home in England that nerved us during those frightful days.'"
"Was it? So it was. Of course," said John feebly, "I forgot."
"'It was for them that we suffered as we did.'"
"Did we? I mean was it? So it was," said John, growing enthusiastic. "Good old 'Ex-Soldier!' What's he say next?"
"'And when we return at last from the toil and stress of war [Grunts of appreciation from John], what do we find?'"
"Pork and beans," said John.
I looked at him severely.
"John," I said, "this is no matter for idle jesting. Listen what the poor fellow goes on to say, "'What do we find?'"
"Boiled be——I don't know, Alan," he finished hurriedly as I looked at him again. "I—I don't think I found anything."