"My first dinner—I had an appetite like a wolf—would have made any ordinary wolf turn tail. Nora said she had had to leave it to the cook, and so everything had gone wrong. It _had_, and the only wonder is that _I_ didn’t go wrong afterwards. The soup was a miniature salt-lake, the meat so tough I couldn’t get my knife through it, and the pudding—I never got to the bottom of that pudding, and I hope I never shall. It was a ghastly meal; Wolff was as glum as an undertaker, and Nora as near crying as she could be without coming to the real thing, and I wasn’t particularly sprightly, as you can imagine. "However, at last I got to bed—or the thing which they call a bed—an iron affair with no springs that I could find, and a rotten, puffed-out air-cushion for a covering, which fell off five times in the night and had to be fished up from the floor. At seven o’clock—seven o’clock if you please!—I was thumped awake by the orderly, who had planted a five-inch pot of lukewarm water in my basin. He jabbered a lot which I didn’t understand, and then of course I went to sleep again. At about nine I yelled for my bath, and in came Nora, looking awfully tired and worried. It seems she had been up ever since seven slaving at the house—I mean loft—trying to get it shipshape before lunch. After a lot of fuss I got hold of Wolff’s hip-bath and had some sort of a wash, getting down to breakfast at ten. Breakfast! Coffee and rolls! Coffee and rolls! I wonder if I shall ever get a square meal again! Wolff had already gone off and didn’t get back till lunch, when we had a new edition of supper (which, it appears, had been extra grand on my account). He doesn’t seem to mind what he eats, and is always talking shop, which, I am sure, bores Nora as much as it does me.