"What were you doing at the mast this morning, 'Kid'?" I asked by way of
variety.

"Had a mustering shirt in the lucky bag."

I heard the boy chuckle. There was an escapade behind the remark.

"You know that wardroom Jap with the bad eye?"

"Yes."

"It was his shirt."

"But how----"

"It was this way. You know how hard it has been to put up with
'government straight' as a steady diet, don't you?"

I nodded. As "government straight" meant the extremely simple bill of
fare provided by Uncle Sam, consisting of salt beef, pork, hardtack,
beans, and canned butter, with an occasional taste of dried fruit, I was
compelled to admit my acquaintance with it.

"Well, the other night I got to dreaming that I was back in New York,"
resumed "Kid." "I dreamt I dropped into a bang-up restaurant and ordered
beefsteak, fried potatoes, pie, and----"

A groan came from one of the gun's crew, who was within hearing, and
"Kid" lowered his voice.