The young men took us in hand, acting in turn as corporals, platoon
sergeants, and company commanders. The gentleman with the eyeglass had
charge of my platoon, and from the start he cast surreptitious glances
at a little red brochure which he held in his hand, and mumbled words
as if trying to commit something to memory.

"Get to your places," the adjutant yelled to the officers. "Hurry up!
Don't stand there gaping as if you're going to snap at flies. We've
got to do some work. There's no hay for those who don't work. Come on,
Weary, and drill your men; you with the eyeglass, I mean! I want you
to put the company through some close column movements."

The man with the eyeglass took up his position, and issued some order,
but his voice was so low that the men nearest him could not hear the
command.

"Shout!" yelled the adjutant. "Don't mumble like a flapper who has
just got her first kiss. It's not allowed on parade."

The order was repeated, and the voice raised a little.

"Louder, louder!" yelled the adjutant. Then with fine irony: "These
men are very interested in what you've got to tell them.... I don't
think."

Eyeglass essayed another attempt, but stopped in the midst of his
words, frozen into mute helplessness by the look of the adjutant.

"For heaven's sake, try and speak up," the adjutant said. "If you
don't talk like a man, these fellows won't salute you when they meet