It was a freezing cold mid-winter dawn, so cold that frost had formed on
the inside of the windows. The boys were startled awake by the sound of a
bell, followed by a banging on the door loud enough to raise the dead.
"Get up! Come on, you worthless little rats, get up!"
Sullivan groaned and lifted himself slowly out of bed. His joints felt frozen in place, and the floor was so cold that he gasped as his feet touched it.
He moved slowly about the room, shaking the other boys awake. When he worked his way around to the other side of the room, Spot was already awake and standing.
Spot greeted him with a cheerful swearword, along with a description of the weather that was accurate, though a little too colorful for elegance.
"Sleep well, Jacky-boy?"
"Jacky-boy?!" Sullivan said incredulously. "Don't push me, Conlon. It's too early."
Mike, the boy on the top bunk, opened one eye and laughed. "Jacky-boy?
Spot glanced up at him. "Jack. Like 'Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.'"
Mike sat up and considered. "Jack. Well, better'n Sullivan." He yelled out to the other boys, and within moments the whole bunkhouse was ringing with Sullivan's new name.
The newly christened Jack turned wearily to Spot. "Thanks. So much for dignity."
Spot grinned at him impudently. "Well, at least they's all awake now."
Even irritable, Jack had to laugh. "All right then, smart guy. But you'll pay for this, let me tell you. You're helpin' me with breakfast."
"What? They need spoon-feedin'?"
"No, dumb-ass. It' like this; there ain't never enough food t'go around, see, so the workers that serve it just keep addin' water t'make it last. The first ones in line is the only ones that gets a real breakfast, so we's gotta defend our place so no one cuts us. Otherwise, we don't eat. That's the first job of a bunkhouse leader," he added. "To make sure all their boys eats. So if there's trouble, it's you'n me against whoever tries to push one of ours out of line."
"Get up! Come on, you worthless little rats, get up!"
Sullivan groaned and lifted himself slowly out of bed. His joints felt frozen in place, and the floor was so cold that he gasped as his feet touched it.
He moved slowly about the room, shaking the other boys awake. When he worked his way around to the other side of the room, Spot was already awake and standing.
Spot greeted him with a cheerful swearword, along with a description of the weather that was accurate, though a little too colorful for elegance.
"Sleep well, Jacky-boy?"
"Jacky-boy?!" Sullivan said incredulously. "Don't push me, Conlon. It's too early."
Mike, the boy on the top bunk, opened one eye and laughed. "Jacky-boy?
Spot glanced up at him. "Jack. Like 'Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.'"
Mike sat up and considered. "Jack. Well, better'n Sullivan." He yelled out to the other boys, and within moments the whole bunkhouse was ringing with Sullivan's new name.
The newly christened Jack turned wearily to Spot. "Thanks. So much for dignity."
Spot grinned at him impudently. "Well, at least they's all awake now."
Even irritable, Jack had to laugh. "All right then, smart guy. But you'll pay for this, let me tell you. You're helpin' me with breakfast."
"What? They need spoon-feedin'?"
"No, dumb-ass. It' like this; there ain't never enough food t'go around, see, so the workers that serve it just keep addin' water t'make it last. The first ones in line is the only ones that gets a real breakfast, so we's gotta defend our place so no one cuts us. Otherwise, we don't eat. That's the first job of a bunkhouse leader," he added. "To make sure all their boys eats. So if there's trouble, it's you'n me against whoever tries to push one of ours out of line."
