Barry.

The M. O. approached. He was in a state of rage that rendered coherent
speech impossible.

"Oh, quit it, doc. Let me show you something."

He led him into the ruin, where his spoils were cached.

"Biscuits, my boy, and coffee. Hold on! Listen! I'm going to get a
fire going here and in twenty minutes there'll be six cans of fragrant
delicious coffee, boiling hot."

"Why, how the--"

"Doc, don't talk! Listen to me! You round up your sick men, and bring
them quietly over here. I don't know how many I can supply, but at
least, I think, a hundred."

"Why, how the devil--?"

"Go on; I haven't time to talk to you. Get busy!"

Working by flashlight, the men cut open the tins, dumped the biscuits
on a blanket spread in a corner of the cellar, while Barry made
preparations for a fire.

"Here, Hobbs, you punch two holes in these cans, just an inch from the
top."

Soon the fire was blazing cheerily. In its light Barry was searching
through the ruin.

"By Jove," he shouted, "the very thing. Just made for us."

He pulled out a long steel rod from a heap of rubbish and ran with it to
the fire.

"Here, boys, punch a hole in this wall. Now then, for the cans. String
them on this rod."

In twenty minutes the coffee was ready.

"How is it?" he inquired anxiously, handing a mess tin full to one of
his men.

The boy tasted it.

"Like mother made," he said, with a grin. "Gee, but it's good."

At that moment the doctor appeared at the cellar door.

"I say, old chap," he said, "there will be a riot here in fifteen
minutes. That coffee smells the whole camp."

"Bring 'em along, doc. The sick chaps first. By Jove, here's the
sergeant major himself."

"What's all this?" inquired the sergeant major in his gruffest voice.
"Who's responsible for this fire?"

"Coffee, sergeant major?" answered Barry, handing him a tin full.

"But what--?"

"Drink it first, sergeant major."

The sergeant major took the mess tin and tasted the coffee.

"Well, this IS fine," he declared, "and it's what the boys want. But
this fire is against orders, sir. I ought to have it put out."

"You will have it put out over my dead body, sergeant major," cried the
M. O.

"And mine," added Barry.

"By gad, we'll chance the zeps, sir," said the sergeant major. "This
freezin' rain will kill more men than a bomb. Bring in your men, sir,"
he added to the M. O. "But I must see the O. C."

The sergeant major's devotion to military disc