t watch, and Greg saw that the first half-hour
was nearly up. In a minute or two more, he knew Major Bell would
give the order for a counter-march, and the first battalion would
swing and come back on its own trail. So Captain Holmes turned
and ran back to his non-commissioned officer.

"What's the matter, Sergeant?" the young captain inquired pleasantly.

Mock made as though trying to rise from the ground to stand at
attention, but his lips twisted as though he were in pain.

"Rest," ordered Greg, "and tell me what ails you."

"My feet are killing me, sir," groaned the sergeant.

"That's odd," Captain Holmes commented. "You were all right at
assembly---lively enough then. Has half an hour of marching used
up a sound, healthy man?"

Instantly the sergeant's look became surly.

"All I know, sir, is that I could hardly stand on my feet. So
I had to drop out. If you'll permit it, sir, I shall have to
get back to camp the best way I can."

"If you're that badly off I'll have an ambulance sent for you,"
Greg went on. "But I don't understand your feet giving out so
suddenly. Take off one of your shoes and the sock."

"That may not show much, but I'm suffering just the same, sir,"
rejoined the non-com in a grumbling tone.

"Let me see," Greg insisted.

While the sergeant was busy removing a legging and unlacing a
shoe Captain Holmes glanced up the road to discover that the battalion
was counter-marching.

"Be quick about it, Sergeant," Greg urged.

Moving no faster than he had to, Mock took off his shoe, then slowly
turned the sock down, peeling it off.

"Is that the worst foot?" Greg demanded, in astonishment.

"I don't know, sir; they both hurt me."

"Do you want to show me the other foot, or do you wish to get
back among the file closers?"

"I---I can't walk, sir."

Down on one knee went Greg, carefully inspecting the foot and
feeling it. The skin was clean, rosy, firm.

"Why there isn't a sign of a blister," Captain Holmes declared.
"Nor is there an abrasion of any kind, or any callous. There
isn't even a corn. That's as healthy a doughboy foot as I've
seen. Dress your foot again, and put on your legging---_pronto_."

A "doughboy" is an infantry soldier. "Pronto" is a word the Army
has borrowed from the Spanish, and means, "Be quick about it."

"I'm not fit to march, sir," cried Sergeant Mock.

"Either you'll be ready by the time B company is here, and you'll
march in, or I'll deta