suddenly remembered about his rice and hurried
back to find it boiling, bulging over the top like a small snowdrift.

[Illustration: THE TROUBLE BEGINS 059]

"I was afraid that kettle was a little too full," he said to himself,
hurrying off for another campkettle, in which he put about a third of
the contents of the first. "Now they're all right. And it'll cook better
and quicker in two than one. Great Scott! what's the matter? They're
both boiling over. There must be something wrong with that rice."

Pretty soon he had all the company kettles employed, and then all that
he could borrow from the other companies. But dip out as much as he
would there seemed no abatement in the upheaving of the snowy cereal,
and the kettles continued to foam over like so many huge glasses of soda
water. He rushed to his bunk and got his gum blanket and heaped upon
it a pile as big as a small haycock, but the mass in the kettle seemed
larger than it was before this was subtracted.

He sweat and dipped, and dipped and sweat; burned his hands into
blisters with the hot rice and hotter kettles, kicked over one of the
largest kettles in one of his spasmodic rushes to save a portion of the
food that was boiling over, and sent its white contents streaming over
the ground. His misery came to a climax as he heard the quick step of
his hungry comrades returning from drill.

"Right face; Arms a-port; Break ranks--March!" commanded the
Orderly-Sergeant, and there was a clatter of tin cups and plates as they
came rushing toward him to get their dinner--something to stay their
ravenous stomachs. There was a clamor of rage, ridicule, wrath and
disappointment as they took in the scene.

[Illustration: THE RICE GETS THE BULGE 061 ]

"What's the matter here?" demanded the Captain, striding back to the
company fire. "You young rascal, is this the way you get dinner for
your comrades? Is this the way you attend to the duty for which you're
detailed? Waste rations in some fool experiment and scatter good food
all over the ground? Biler, put on your arms and take Klegg to the
guard-houae. I'll make you pay for this nonsense, sir, in a way that you
won't forget in a hurry, I'll be bound."

So poor Si marched to the guard-house, where he had to stay for 24
hours, as a punishment for not knowing, until he found out by this
experience, that rice would "s-well." The Captain wouldn't let him have
anything to eat except that scorched and half-cooked stuff cut