FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   122   123   124   125   126   127   128   129   130   131   132   133   134   135   136   137   138   139  
140   141   142   143   144   145   146   147   148   149   150   151   152   153   154   155   156   157   158   159   160   161   >>  
he whispered between evolutions. "Oh, this isn't what they're after. Wait till I dismiss 'em." At the "break-off" the ranks stood fast. Perowne fell out, faced them, and, refreshing his memory by glimpses at a red-bound, metal-clasped book, drilled them for ten minutes. (This is that Perowne who was shot in Equatorial Africa by his own men.) Ansell followed him, and Hogan followed Ansell. All three were implicitly obeyed. Then Stalky laid aside his Snider, and, drawing a long breath, favored the company with a blast of withering invective. "'Old 'ard, Muster Corkran. That ain't in any drill," cried Foxy. "All right, Sergeant. You never know what you may have to say to your men.--For pity's sake, try to stand up without leanin' against each other, you blear-eyed, herrin'-gutted gutter-snipes. It's no pleasure to me to comb you out. That ought to have been done before you came here, you--you militia broom-stealers." "The old touch--the old touch. _We_ know it," said Keyte, wiping his rheumy eyes. "But where did he pick it up?" "From his father--or his uncle. Don't ask me! Half of 'em must have been born within earshot o' the barracks." (Foxy was not far wrong in his guess.) "I've heard more back-talk since this volunteerin' nonsense began than I've heard in a year in the service." "There's a rear-rank man lookin' as though his belly were in the pawn-shop. Yes, you, Private Ansell," and Stalky tongue-lashed the victim for three minutes, in gross and in detail. "Hullo!" He returned to his normal tone. "First blood to me. You flushed, Ansell. You wriggled." "Couldn't help flushing," was the answer. "Don't think I wriggled, though." "Well, it's your turn now." Stalky resumed his place in the ranks. "Lord, Lord! It's as good as a play," chuckled the attentive Keyte. Ansell, too, had been blessed with relatives in the service, and slowly, in a lazy drawl--his style was more reflective than Stalky's--descended the abysmal depths of personality. "Blood to me!" he shouted triumphantly. "You couldn't stand it, either." Stalky was a rich red, and his Snider shook visibly. "I didn't think I would," he said, struggling for composure, "but after a bit I got in no end of a bait. Curious, ain't it?" "Good for the temper," said the slow-moving Hogan, as they returned arms to the rack. "Did you ever?" said Foxy, hopelessly, to Keyte. "I don't know much about volunteers, but it's the rummiest show I ever
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   115   116   117   118   119   120   121   122   123   124   125   126   127   128   129   130   131   132   133   134   135   136   137   138   139  
140   141   142   143   144   145   146   147   148   149   150   151   152   153   154   155   156   157   158   159   160   161   >>  



Top keywords:
Stalky
 

Ansell

 

Snider

 
wriggled
 

returned

 

Perowne

 

service

 

minutes

 

detail

 

barracks


victim

 
normal
 

nonsense

 
lookin
 
rummiest
 

flushed

 

volunteerin

 

Private

 

tongue

 

volunteers


lashed

 

visibly

 

couldn

 

hopelessly

 

personality

 
shouted
 

triumphantly

 

struggling

 

Curious

 

temper


moving

 

composure

 
depths
 

abysmal

 

resumed

 

Couldn

 

flushing

 

answer

 

chuckled

 

attentive


reflective
 
descended
 

slowly

 

relatives

 

blessed

 
implicitly
 

obeyed

 
Africa
 
Equatorial
 

invective