“No, that is quite right,” replied Fokin calmly.
“Wh-a-at? If your chief says it is wrong, it is wrong.”
“Look in the book and see for yourself.”
“I am your officer, and as such I must know better than you. A fine thing, indeed! Perhaps you think that I want to enter a cadet school for instruction? What do you know about anything? What’s a St-a-a-n-dard? Ste-ndard! There’s no such word as Sta-a-andard. The sacred Stendard of War——”
“Don’t quarrel now, Shapovalenko,” put in Romashov. “Get on with the lesson.”
“Very good, your Honour!” drawled Shapovalenko. “Only allow me to inform your Honour that all these volunteers are far too clever.”
“That will do, that will do! get on with the lesson.”
“Very good, your Honour—Khliabnikov! Who is the commander of this corps?”
Khliabnikov stared with wild eyes at the “non-com.” All the sound which came from his open mouth was a croak, which might have been made by a hoarse crow.
“Answer!” cried Shapovalenko furiously.