I turned the offending object over with my foot and spelt the inscription traced on the square of grey canvas. Then I shouted: "Judsi!" He was seated with several others about twenty yards off. "Judsi!" I repeated. His neighbour, Lamalou, nudged him. "Don't you hear the sergeant talking to you?" "Wot's wrong?" he said without moving. "Does this haversack belong to you?" "Wot 'aversack? Yes, it might." "What the deuce is it doing here?" "Anything wrong with it?" Judsi impertinently fixed his sly clown's eyes on me. "You know the captain will not have untidiness or disorder. Why is your haversack open?" The blackguard pretended to consider the matter. "Probably ... 'cos it ain't shut!" This reply overjoyed his audience. Loriot slapped his thigh. Lamalou nearly died with laughing. As for me, my cheeks burned. I went down on one knee, and pulled the iron rations out of the haversack with a jerk. Then I counted the biscuits. Ten instead of fourteen! Four were missing. I went straight up to the man. "Judsi, what have you done with your biscuits?" "My biscuits?" He tossed his head with a monkey-like grimace. "No 'posse' either, p'r'aps!" "Answer me. Four are missing already!" "Ow dear, now, wot a business!" There was dead silence round us. They knew that matters were coming to a head. "You know that we are strictly forbidden to touch the biscuits without orders ..." I reminded him dryly. "Oo's orders? The ministers'?" Judsi looked round in search of applause. He did not get it. Loriot alone sniggered in a foolish sort of way. Lamalou cut him short. "It's true enough that we have no right." I emphasised his words. "Lamalou knows well enough: he's seen some fighting and knows what it is!" The ex-private in the African battalion again agreed. I continued: "You understand that I, personally, don't care a hang. But a time might come when we were in a jolly tight hole and should be thankful to have our biscuits. And then it's not for us to argue about it. If it's forbidden, it's forbidden, and Sergeant Guillaumin and I are responsible...." The argument carried weight. Somebody said: "Not worth getting slanged about!" Bouillon outdid him. "Strikes me it ain't the sergeants wot worries you." "You're right there!" They were agreed on that point. "Well, Judsi?" I began again less severely. He tried to get out of it. "W'en a bloke's starvin'!" "Starving! You've had your haversack rations." Bouillon gave him away. "'E didn't take 'em. Couldn't bovver wif carryin' 'em!" Judsi dropped some of his swagger. He got up sulkily, and slowly pulled one, two, three biscuits out of his greatcoat pocket.... "And the fourth?" "Oh!... eaten!" "Well anyhow, put those back." He obeyed with very sour looks; then raising his clown's face, he said: "'Ave to put up with a empty stummick all day then?"