Good!  Ha!  Likewise Ho!  “Let Pinto carry on as it was getting late!”

Very well! If it cost Colonel Dearman every penny he had in the world he would have his revenge on the insolent scoundrel.  He might think he could insult Colonel Dearman’s wife with impunity, he might think himself entitled to cast ridicule on Colonel Dearman’s Corps—­but “let the Major carry on as it is getting late!” By God that was too much!—­That was the last straw that breaks the camel’s heart—­and Colonel Dearman would have his revenge or lose life, honour, and wealth in the attempt.

Ha! and, moreover, Ho!

The Colonel knew his battalion-drill by heart and backwards.  Was it his fault that his officers were fools and his men damn-fools?

Major Pinto swallowed hard, blinked hard, and breathed hard.  Like the Lady of Shallott he felt that the curse had come upon him.

“Battalion will advance.  Quick march,” he shouted, as a safe beginning.  But the Sergeant-Major had by this time fully explained to the sweating Captain Trebizondi that he should have given the order “Form fours.  Left.  Right wheel.  Quick march,” when the Colonel had announced that the battalion would advance “in succession from the left of companies”.

Like lightning he now hurled forth the orders.  “Form fours.  Left.  Right wheel.  Quick march.”, and the battalion was soon under way with one company in column of fours and the remaining five companies in line....

Time cures all troubles, and in time “A” Company was pushed and pulled back into line again.

The incident pleased Major Pinto as it wasted the fleeting minutes and gave him a chance to give the only other order of which he was sure.

“That was oll wrong,” said he.  “We will now, however, oll advance as ‘A’ Company did.  The arder will be ’Battalion will advance.  In succession, advance in fours from the right of companees.’  Thenn each officer commanding companees will give the arder ’Form fours.  Right.  Left wheel.  Quick march’ one after thee other.”

And the Major gave the order.

To the surprise of every living soul upon the parade-ground the manoeuvre was correctly executed and the battalion moved off in column of fours.  And it kept on moving.  And moving.  For Major Pinto had come to the end of his tether.

“Do something, man,” said Colonel Dearman with haughty scorn, after some five minutes of strenuous tramping had told severely on the morale of the regiment.

And Major Pinto, hoping for the best and fearing the worst, lifted up his voice and screamed:—­

“On the right form battalion!”

Let us draw a veil.

The adjective that General Murger used with the noun he called the
Gungapur Fusiliers is not to be printed.

The address he made to that Corps after it had once more found itself would have led a French or Japanese regiment to commit suicide by companies, taking the time from the right.  A Colonel of Romance Race would have fallen on his sword at once (and borrowed something more lethal had it failed to penetrate).