Lieutenant Wheeler, Mr. Micks.
His fellow officer lies very ill with pneumonia in stateroom 96.
Lieutenant Wheeler has kept him alive by special nursing. He is
not able to retain anything in his stomach but eggs and orange
juice. If he has these, we may be able to keep up his strength
till the fever breaks, and carry him to a hospital in France. If
we can't get them for him, he will be dead within twenty-four
hours. That's the situation."

The steward rose and turned out the drop-light on his desk. "Have
you received notice that there are no more eggs and oranges on
board? Then I am afraid there is nothing I can do for you. I did
not provision this ship."

"No. I understand that. I believe the United States Government
provided the fruit and eggs and meat. And I positively know that
the articles I need for my patient are not exhausted. Without
going into the matter further, I warn you that I'm not going to
let a United States officer die when the means of saving him are
procurable. I'll go to the skipper, I'll call a meeting of the
army officers on board. I'll go any length to save this man."

"That is your own affair, but you will not interfere with me in
the discharge of my duties. Will you leave my cabin?"

"In a moment, Steward. I know that last night a number of cases
of eggs and oranges were carried into this room. They are here
now, and they belong to the A.E.F. If you will agree to provision
my man, what I know won't go any further. But if you refuse, I'll
get this matter investigated. I won't stop till I do."

The Steward sat down, and took up a pen. His large, soft hand
looked cheesy, like his face. "What is the number of the cabin?"
he asked indifferently.

"Ninety-six."

"Exactly what do you require?"

"One dozen eggs and one dozen oranges every twenty-four hours, to
be delivered at any time convenient to you."

"I will see what I can do."

The Steward did not look up from his writing pad, and his
visitors left as abruptly as they had come.

At about four o'clock every morning, before even the bath
stewards were on duty, there was a scratching at Claude's door,
and a covered basket was left there by a messenger who was
unwashed, half-naked, with a sacking apron tied round his middle
and his hairy chest splashed with flour. He never spoke, had only
one eye and an inflamed socket. Claude learned that he was a
half-witted brother of the Chief Steward, a potato peeler and
dish-washer in the gall