By five that evening the colonel, the matron and the nursing sisters arrived, and a few hours later came the balance of our officers and men. Motor lorries and ambulances toiled through the gates, laden with our equipment. Hundreds of boxes, crates of iron beds, bales of mattresses and blankets, folding bedside tables, bags of tents and poles, were brought to the door in an apparently endless stream. As fast as the lorries arrived the men unloaded them, piling boxes and bales under the balconies for protection. Huxford and the team did their share too, bringing up loads of food from the train for the men and for prospective patients. The senior major was pale and tired; he had been up since dawn and had worked hard. Nothing had been forgotten, and the transport of men and accoutrement had been accomplished systematically and well. He was a good soldier, true to his duty, stern and unflinching, and he never asked others to work without being willing to do more than his own share. Tired as he was, he would neither rest nor eat until the last box was unloaded, and the last lorrie had left the grounds—and the men shared his deprivation. It was almost nine p.m. as Tim and Barker, staggering under the weight of a tremendous case, came across the driveway and dumped the last box to the ground. Tim sat breathless for a moment upon it, then looked wearily up at Barker, with his head on one side as was his custom when he soliloquised. "Dat’s a heavy load t’get offen an empty stummick," he gasped. "I can’t lif annuder poun’ until I gets a slab o’ roas’ beef under me belt. I’m dat hungry I could lick de sweat off a bake-shop window." "I smell supper cookin’ now," said Barker. "Did ye see th’ ranges? Some cookery, I kin tell ye—they kin roast a whole cow at one time!" "An’ I kin eat dat same cow jus’ as fas’ as dey kin roast it," Tim declared. "I’m dat weak from starvation dat a drink uv holy water ’ud make me drunk!" About nine-thirty p.m. the men fell upon their supper like a pack of hungry wolves. "Gee!—Don’t food taste good—when ye’re hungry," drawled Wilson, with his mouth full. "Dat’s right," Tim replied. "Glad t’ see ye’re perkin’ up an’ takin’ a little notice agin. I fought youse and Huxford wuz about all in." "Where’d you get the onion?" Wilson queried. "I foun’ dis in d’ hotel garbage," said Tim, as he took a large bite out of a Spanish specimen, "an’ I wuz jus’ t’inkin’ wat a diff’rence there is ’tween an onion and a cake. Hav ye noticed it yerself?" "I hevn’t eat cake in so long I don’t s’pose I could tell ’em apart now," Wilson replied. "Well, dey say ye can’t eat yer cake an’ hev it too; but wit an onion it’s different—wen ye eat it, it’s like castin’ yer bread upon de troubled waters—it’ll always come back t’ ye."