Ch. 7: The Flag of Their Country

It was winter and bitter cold of mornings. Consequently Stalky and
Beetle--McTurk being of the offensive type that makes ornate toilet
under all circumstances-drowsed till the last moment before turning
out to call-over in the gas-lit gymnasium. It followed that they were
often late; and since every unpunctuality earned them a black mark,
and since three black marks a week meant defaulters' drill, equally
it followed that they spent hours under the Sergeant's hand. Foxy
drilled the defaulters with all the pomp of his old parade-ground.
"Don't think it's any pleasure to me" (his introduction never
varied). "I'd much sooner be smoking a quiet pipe in my own
quarters--but I see we 'ave the Old Brigade on our 'ands this
afternoon. If I only 'ad you regular, Muster Corkran," said he,
dressing the line.

"You've had me for nearly six weeks, you old glutton. Number off from
the right!"

"Not _quite_ so previous, please. I'm taking this drill. Left,
half--turn! Slow--march." Twenty-five sluggards, all old offenders,
filed into the gymnasium. "Quietly provide yourselves with the
requisite dumb-bells; returnin' quietly to your place. Number off
from the right, in a low voice. Odd numbers one pace to the front.
Even numbers stand fast. Now, leanin' forward from the 'ips, takin'
your time from me."

The dumb-bells rose and fell, clashed and were returned as one. The
boys were experts at the weary game.

"Ve-ry good. I shall be sorry when any of you resume your 'abits of
punctuality. Quietly return dumb-bells. We will now try some simple
drill."

"Ugh! I know that simple drill."

"It would he 'ighly to your discredit if you did not, Muster Corkran.
_At_ the same time, it is not so easy as it looks."

"Bet you a bob, I can drill as well as you, Foxy."

"We'll see later. Now try to imagine you ain't defaulters at all, but
an 'arf company on parade, me bein' your commandin' officer. There's
no call to laugh. If you're lucky, most of you will 'ave to take
drills 'arf your life. Do me a little credit. You've been at it long
enough, goodness knows."

They were formed into fours, marched, wheeled, and countermarched, the
spell of ordered motion strong on them. As Foxy said, they had been
at it a long time.

The gymnasium door opened, revealing McTurk in charge of an old
gentleman.

The Sergeant, leading a wheel, did not see. "Not so bad," he murmured.
"Not 'arf so bad. The pivot-man of the wheel _honly_ marks time,
Muster Swayne. Now, Muster Corkran, you say you know the drill?
Oblige me by takin' over the command and, reversin' my words step by