A CONFERENCE
I was sleeping in the barracks,
A week or so ago.
And in the midst of pleasant dreams
I heard the whistle blow.
Lord, how I hate those whistles!
Well, it was time to "rouse,"
So we marched down 'mongst the thistles
Beside the old ice house.
I looked around in misery,
At last I took a seat,
With nothing to lean up against
And no place for my feet.
As I sat there in the drizzle
Of a good old Plattsburg rain,
I wondered if I'd fizzle
The lesson once again.
The captain, who, like Nero
Observing Rome in flames,
Was seated on a packing-box
Perusing all the names.
"Mr. Whitney, won't you tell us
Of patrols both front and rear?
Speak up, Mr. Whitney,
So the men in back can hear."
"And please now, Mr. Warnock,
Just tell us if you will
What you'd do with this problem
If you were Sergeant Hill?"
"No! I'll ask you if I want you;
Never mind the hands.
Warnock, you are Sergeant Hill,
Just call out your commands."
"Whitney! Warnock! Gee, what luck!"
I chortled in my glee.
My name is Brown, t'was very plain
He'd never get to me.
So I listened to the questions
And the answers one by one,
And wondered if that 3rd degree
Was ever to be done.
I thought of cups with handles on,
Of napkins and clean hands;
I thought of all the pretty girls
That live in Christian lands.
I thought of cakes, and pies, and things,
I thought of home in pain,
And wondered if I'd ever sleep
Till 9 o'clock again.
I wished I had some lager beer
Or a nice silver fizz;
When, "Mr. Brown, you tell us
What a special order is."
I rose, saluted, brushed my pants
Then mutely gazed around.
I stood transfixed; the Captain said
"Sit down, Mr. Brown!"