Entering, Dick hung up his campaign hat on one of the hooks, Greg doing the same.  On account of the heat of the day neither young captain wore a tunic.  Each unbuttoned the top button of his olive drab Army shirt before he dropped into a chair.

“What do you think of the new K.O.?” Dick asked, as he picked a newspaper up from the desk and started to fan himself.

“He means business,” Greg returned.  “I am glad he does,” Dick went on.  “This is no time for slack soldiering.  Greg, I’ll feel consoled for working eighteen hours a day if it results in making the Ninety-ninth the best infantry regiment of the line.”

“Can it be done?” Greg inquired.

“Yes.”

“But I’ve a hunch that every other regiment is striving for the same honor,” Captain Holmes continued.  “Ours isn’t the only K.O. who covets the honor of commanding the best regiment of ’em all.”

“It can be done,” Dick insisted, “and I say it must be done.”

“Yet other regiments would be so close to us in excellence that it would be hard to name the one that is really best.”

“In that case we wouldn’t have won the honor,” Dick smilingly insisted.

“Then consider that fellow Cartwright,” Greg added, lowering his voice a bit.  “He’s a born shirker, and one weak company would make a regiment that much poorer.”

“If Cartwright shirks, then mark my word that he’ll be dropped,” Dick rejoined quickly.  “But Greg, man, this is war-time, and the biggest and most serious war in which we were ever engaged.  There must be no doubts—–­no ifs or buts.  We must have a regiment one hundred per cent. perfect.  I’m going to do my share with a company one hundred percent. good, even if I don’t find time for any sleep.”

Up the corridor there sounded a knock at a door.  Something was said in a low voice.  Then the knock was repeated on Prescott’s door.

“Come in!” called Dick.

An orderly entered saluting.

“Orders from the adjutant, sir,” said the soldier, handing Prescott a folded paper.  He handed one like it to Greg, then saluted and left the room, knocking at the next door.

“Company drill from one to two-thirty,” summarized Prescott, glancing through the typewritten words on the unfolded sheet.  “Practice march by battalions from two-forty-five to three-forty-five.  Squad drill from four o’clock until retreat.  That looks brisk, Greg.”

“Doesn’t it?” asked Holmes, without too plain signs of enthusiasm.  “Company drill and the hike call for our presence, preferably, and yet I’ve paper work enough to keep me busy until evening mess.”

“Paper work,” so-called, is the bane of life for the company commander.  It consists of keeping, making and signing records, of the keeping and inspection of accounts; it deals with requisitions for supplies and an endless number of reports.

“I have a barrelful of paper work, too,” Dick admitted.  “But I’m going to see everything going well on the drill ground before I go near company office.”