Charlie Has A Small Range Now,
Which Keeps Him Squeaking Or Half Singing All The Time.
One morning,
before we got this stove from the quartermaster, breakfast was late,
very late.
The wind was blowing a gale, and after waiting and waiting,
we concluded that Charlie must be having trouble with the little
sheet-iron camp stove. So Faye went back to see what was the matter.
He returned laughing, and said he had found a most unhappy Chinaman;
that Charlie was holding the stove down with a piece of wood with one
hand, and with the other was trying to keep the breakfast on the
stove.
You know the stovepipe goes up through a piece of tin fastened in the
roof of the tent, which is slanting, and when the canvas catches the
wind and flops up and down and every other way, the stovepipe
naturally has to go with it. The wind was just right that morning to
flop everything - canvas, pipe, stove, and breakfast, too - particularly
the delicate Saratoga chips Charlie had prepared for us, and which,
Faye said, were being blown about like yellow rose leaves. The poor
little heathen was distracted, but when he saw Faye he instantly
became a general and said at once, "You hole-ee him - me takee
bleckfus." So Faye having a desire for breakfast, held down the stove
while Charlie got things together. The Saratoga chips were delicate
and crisp and looked nice, too, but neither the doctor nor I asked
Faye if they were some of the "rose leaves" or just plain potatoes
from a dish!
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