“The Officer commanding the leading company appears to be trying to hide,” commented General Murger.

Captain Trebizondi uncovered his face—­a face of great promise but no performance.

“Will you march your company off, sir,” shouted Colonel Dearman, “the battalion is waiting for you.”

With a look of reproachful surprise and an air of “Why couldn’t you say so?” the harassed Captain agitated his sword violently as a salute, turned to his company and boomed finely:—­

“March off!”

The Company obeyed its Commander.

Seeing the thing so easy of accomplishment Captains Allessandropoulos, Schloggenboschenheimer, Da Costa, Euxino, Spoophitophiles and Jose gave the same order and the battalion was in motion—­marching to its front in quarter-column instead of wheeling off in fours.

    Unsteadily shoulder from shoulder,
    Unsteadily blade from blade,
    Unsteady and wrong, slouching along,
    Went the boys of the old brigade.

“Halt,” roared Colonel Dearman.

“Oh, don’t halt ’em,” begged General Murger, “it’s the most entertainin’ show I have ever seen.”

The smart and dapper Brigade-Major’s mouth was open.

Major Pinto and Captain-and-Acting-Adjutant Petropaulovski forgot to cling to their horses with hand and heel and so endangered their lives.

The non-commissioned officers of the permanent staff commended their souls to God and marched as men in a dream.

On hearing the Colonel’s cry of “Halt” many of the men halted.  Not hearing the Colonel’s cry of “Halt” many of the men did not halt.

In two minutes the battalion was without form and void.

In ten minutes the permanent staff had largely re-sorted it and, to a great extent, re-formed the original companies.

Captain Jose offered his subaltern, Lieutenant Bylegharicontractor, a hundred rupees to change places with him.

Offer refused, with genuine and deep regret, but firmly.

“Shall we have another try, Colonel,” inquired General Murger silkily.  “Any amount of real initiative and originality about this Corps.  But I am old-fashioned enough to prefer drill-book evolutions on the barrack-square, I confess.  Er—­let the Major carry on as it is getting late.”

Colonel Dearman’s face flushed a rich dark purple.  His eyes protruded till they resembled those of a crab.  His red hair appeared to flame like very fire.  His lips twitched and he gasped for breath.  Could he believe his ears. “Let the Major carry on as it is getting late!” Let him step into the breach “as it is getting late!” Let the more competent, though junior, officer take over the command “as it is getting late”.  Ho!—­likewise Ha!  This aged roue, this miserable wine-bibbing co-respondent, with his tremulous hand and boiled eye, thought that Colonel Dearman did not know his drill, did he?  Wanted the wretched and incompetent Pinto to carry on, did he?—­as it was getting late.