I declined it, saying we should have our dinner immediately.

"They left me here to get their dinner," said he, apparently not
displeased to have some one to talk to; "and I thought I might as well
make some soup. Down on the German Flats, where I come from, they always
like soup."

"Ah! you are from the German Flats--then your name must be Bellinger or
Weber."

"No, it isn't--it's Krissman."

"Well, Krissman, how do you like the service?"

"Very well. I was only recruited last summer. I used to ride horse on
the _Canawl_, and, as I can blow a horn first-rate, I expect I will soon
be able to play on a bugle, and then, when I get to be musician, you
know, I shall have extra pay."

I did not know it, but I expressed due pleasure at the information, and
wishing Krissman all manner of success in his dreams of ambition, or
rather, I should say, of avarice, for the hopes of "extra pay" evidently
preponderated over those of fame, I returned to my own quarters.

My husband, with his French tastes, was inclined to be somewhat
disappointed when I told him of this little incident, and my refusal of
Krissman's soup; but we were soon gratified by seeing his tall, awkward
form bearing a kettle of the composition, which he set down before the
two gentlemen, by whom, to his infinite satisfaction, it was pronounced
excellent.