“Then what breed of cats is he?” asked another flippantly. Prisoners don’t stand much on ceremony. “Tiger cat!” replied Williams. Then I saw him talking with those around him, and I inferred that he was telling about the fight. A lieutenant whose manner I did not like--and there are a good many things I am not pleased with, when I am hungry--came to me, and in an insinuating way asked, “Any chance of making a break here?” “I haven’t thought of it,” I replied. “I have just come.” I distrusted the man, I do not know why, except that his manner was over sweet. Then he suggested a plan so impractical that I wondered if he was in his senses. “What do you think of it?” he inquired. “Good idea!” I replied, “if you are figuring to get killed.” I turned my back on the fellow, and made up my mind that whatever plans might be made in the future, I would have no part in any that _he_ might have a part in; which only shows how strong my prejudices are about people to whom I have taken a dislike. “What are the chances for ‘chow,’ Williams?” I called. “Haven’t seen any, or smelled a sniff of any since I got here,” he replied. “I guess the Kaiser when he planned this war forgot that cog in its wheels; for prisoners at least.” It certainly looked like it, and I was hungry enough to eat a Boche uncooked, when about four o’clock in the afternoon some wheat bread and vegetable soup were given us--but not enough for a hungry man. I still persisted in having a lame ankle, and if my face and actions were to be taken in evidence, it was a corker. I made several acquaintances among the officers and privates too during the day, and talked with Williams about the prospects of making an escape. To which he replied: “There ain’t any!” And I finally agreed with him. So I rolled up in my blankets, and went sound asleep. CHAPTER XXII HELD BY THE ENEMY I was awakened by a tumult of voices, and by men stumbling over me. So sound had been my sleep that at first I did not recognize my surroundings. A throng of new prisoners was coming through the narrow door near where I was lying. I sat up with my back against the wall, to see if there were any that I knew, and also to take advantage of any circumstance that might favor me. I did not recognize any of the men, but spoke to some of them. One big fellow trod on my feet and, stumbling, sprawled across me. “Look out!” I cried, “there’s more room standing up than in lying down!” “What’s the matter, boy?” said the stumbler; “what are you yelping about?” “Matter enough,” I replied, “when a ton of a man hits a sore leg!” He made no immediate reply except to say, “Which leg is it?” And then, unwinding my puttee and the bandage, began rubbing my leg with his strong magnetic hands. Then skillfully rewinding the bandage, he asked: “What’s the matter with your arm?” “Bullet hole,” I replied. “But it is all right.”