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