away. Besides conferring this favor upon them,
about the only thing which the German government did was to send a
doctor around occasionally to look down their throats and inspect their
tongues. If a prisoner became ill, it behooved him to find another
prisoner who had studied medicine and then wait until old General
Griffenhaus was in a sufficiently good humor to give him medicines.
General Griffenhaus was not cruel; perhaps he would have been pleasant
if he had known how.

As fast as Tom learned the custom, he adapted himself to the lazy,
go-as-you-please kind of life. He scared up a rusty tin plate, made
himself a straw bed in a boarded-in box stall, got hold of an old burlap
bag which he wore as a kind of tunic while washing his clothes, and
idled about listening to the war experiences of others. He had thought
his own experiences rather remarkable, but now they seemed so tame that
he did not venture to tell them. Fights with German raiders, rescues
after days spent on the ocean, chats about the drive for Paris, the
"try" at Verdun, the adventures of captured aviators--these things and
many more, were familiarly discussed in the little sprawling groups
among which he came to be a silent listener. In a way, it reminded him
of camping and campfire yarns, except for the squalor and disorder.

Of course, there was general work to be done, but the officials did not
concern themselves about this until it became absolutely necessary. No
one could say that the German discipline was strict. When the prisoners
discovered that one or other of their number was good at this or that
sort of work they elected him to attend to those matters--whether it was
sweeping, settling quarrels, cooking, writing letters, petitioning "Old
Griff," shaving, pulling teeth, or what not. Each prisoner contributed
his knowledge and experience to make life bearable for all. The camp was
a _democracy_, but Germany didn't seem to object. If the prisoners
wished to dig a drain trench or a refuse pit, they asked for shovels.
And sometimes they got them. Prisoners, ragged and forlorn, came to be
known by the most dignified titles. There was the "consulting
architect," the "sanitary inspector," the "secretary of state," the
"chairman of the committee on kicks," etc.

And one momentous day Tom met the "chief engineer."

CHAPTER XXV

HE VISITS THE OLD PUMP AND RECEIVES A SHOCK

"It's all happy-go-lucky here," said a young American from somewhe