One night I was talking to some men in a cookhouse on the opposite side of the village and I announced the service.
When they emerged from the cookhouse, Joe Haines was waiting for them.
He broke into dolorous song and turned back into the cookhouse.
"The cookhouse—the dining tent," explained the other, pointing.
We endeavoured to get cookhouse jobs for the pickings to be had, but could not do so.
Down past the bunkhouse and the cookhouse to the stables the searchers made their way.
I hastened to the cookhouse and imparted the news to the men, as well as the orders.
We had stopped at the cookhouse and begged a pot of hot coffee to take to our cabins.
I found him, as I expected, hanging round the cookhouse, and taxed him with his neglect of duty.
Well, if it wasn't the cookhouse, is it that letter that is coming for you tonight?