He was curiously wondering as to what her age
was, as he said aloud:
"Yes, tell me, please."
"That I will not--not now," she retorted, with a toss of the head. "I'll
find somebody to tell my story to who does not have to be asked. Also, I
want information. I managed to find out what time to ring the bell to
turn the hands to, and that is about all. I don't understand the
ridiculous speech of your people. What time do they knock off?"
"At eleven--go on again at one."
"That will do, thank you. And now, where do you keep the key to the
provisions? I want to feed my men."
"Your men!" he gasped. "On tinned goods! No, no. Let them go out and
eat with my boys."
Her eyes flashed as on the day before, and he saw again the imperative
expression on her face.
"That I won't; my men are _men_. I've been out to your miserable
barracks and watched them eat. Faugh! Potatoes! Nothing but potatoes!
No salt! Nothing! Only potatoes! I may have been mistaken, but I
thought I understood them to say that that was all they ever got to eat.
Two meals a day and every day in the week?"
He nodded.
"Well, my men wouldn't stand that for a single day, much less a whole
week. Where is the key?"
"Hanging on that clothes-hook under the clock.
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