Ginger nodded again.

Tjaden’s chaps quivered. “Tobacco too?”

“Yes, everything.”

Tjaden beamed: “What a beanfeast! That’s all for us! Each man gets⁠—wait a bit⁠—yes, practically two issues.”

Then Ginger stirred himself and said: “That won’t do.”

We got excited and began to crowd around.

“Why won’t that do, you old carrot?” demanded Katczinsky.

“Eighty men can’t have what is meant for a hundred and fifty.”

“We’ll soon show you,” growled Müller.

“I don’t care about the stew, but I can only issue rations for eighty men,” persisted Ginger.