The next day Ranjoor Singh had a surprise for us.  At ten in the morning we were all lined up in the rain and given a full month’s pay.  It was almost midday when the last man had received his money, and when we were dismissed and the men filed in to dinner Ranjoor Singh bade me go among them and ask whether they did not wish opportunity to spend their money.

So I went and asked the question.  Only a few said yes.  Many preferred to keep their money against contingencies, and some thought the question was a trick and refused to answer it at all.  I returned to Ranjoor Singh and told him what they answered.

“Go and ask them again!” said he.

So I went among them again as they lay on the cots after dinner, and most of them jeered at me for my pains.  I went and found Ranjoor Singh in the officers’ mess and told him.

“Ask them once more!” said he.

This third time, being in no mood to endure mockery, I put the question with an air of mystery.  They asked what the hidden meaning might be, but I shook my head and repeated the question with a smile, as if I knew indeed but would not tell.

“Says Ranjoor Singh,” said I, “would the men like opportunity to spend their money?”

“No!” said most of them, and Gooja Singh asked how long it well might be before we should see money again.

“Shall I bear him, a third time, such an answer?” I asked, looking more mysterious than ever.  And just then it happened that Gooja Singh remembered the advice to seek better cause for mutiny.  He drummed on his teeth with his fingernails.

“Very well!” said he.  “Tell him we will either spend our money or let blood!  Let us see what he says to that!”

“Shall I say,” said I, “that Gooja Singh says so?”

“Nay, nay!” said he, growing anxious.  “Let that be the regiment’s answer.  Name no names!”

I thought it a foolish answer, given by a fool, but the men were in the mood to relish it and began to laugh exceedingly.

“Shall I take that answer?” said I, and they answered “Yes!” redoubling their emphasis when I objected.  “The Germans do Ranjoor Singh’s thinking for him these days,” said one man; “take that answer and let us see what the Germans have to say to it through his mouth!”

So I went and told Ranjoor Singh, whispering to him in a corner of the officers’ mess.  Some Turks had joined the Germans and most of them were bending over maps that a German officer had spread upon a table in their midst; he was lecturing while the others listened.  Ranjoor Singh had been listening, too, but he backed into a corner as I entered, and all the while I was whispering to him I kept hearing the word Wassmuss—­Wassmuss—­Wassmuss.  The German who was lecturing explained something about this Wassmuss.

“What is Wassmuss?” I asked, when I had given Ranjoor Singh the men’s answer.  He smiled into my eyes.

“Wassmuss is the key to the door,” said he.