“Right. I see, Soltuis, that you are beginning to try. And why is he placed there, Pakhorukov?”
“That he may neither sleep, nor doze, nor smoke, nor accept bribes.”
“And the pass-word?”
“And that he may give the pass-word to the officers who pass in and out.”
“Right. Sit down.”
Shapovalenko had noticed some time ago the ironical smile on the face of the volunteer Fokin, and for this reason he cried with extra severity:
“Now, volunteer! But is that the way to stand? When your chief asks a question you should stand as straight as a ramrod. What do you mean by the Colours?”
The volunteer Fokin, with a University badge on his breast, stood in front of the non-commissioned officer in a respectful attitude, but his young, grey eyes sparkled with laughter.
“By the Colours is meant the sacred Standard of War under which——”
“Wrong!” broke in Shapovalenko angrily, bringing the Manual down hard on the palm of his hand.