There was no water and the bread was dry, but he enjoyed it.
There was no ceremony about dining.

He swallowed and looked about, contemplating the dull, homely labor of the thing.

It was disagreeable--miserably disagreeable--in all its phases.

Not because it was bitter, but because it was hard.

It would be hard to any one, he thought.
After eating, he stood about as before, waiting until his turn came.
The intention was to give him an afternoon of practice, but the greater part of the time was spent in waiting about.
At last evening came, and with it hunger and a debate with himself as to how he should spend the night.