“Hips steady. Rise on your toes. Bend your knees.”
And directly after that, very softly and in a sing-song voice—
“Begin.”
“One,” sang out the soldiers in unison, and they simultaneously performed in slow time the order to bend the knees till the whole division found itself on its haunches.
Bobyliev, who likewise performed the same movement, scrutinized the soldiers with severe, critical, and aggressive eyes. Immediately beside him cried the little spasmodic corporal, Syeroshtán, in his sharp, squeaky voice that reminded one of a cockerel squabbling for food—
“Stretch your arms to the right—and left—salute. Begin, one, two, one, two,” and directly afterwards ten smart young fellows were heard yelling at the top of their voices the regulation—
“Haú, haú, haú.”
“Halt,” shouted Syeroshtán, red of face from rage and over-exertion. “La-apschin, you great ass, you toss about, give yourself airs, and twist your arm like some old woman from Riasan—choú, choú. Do the movements properly, or by all that’s unholy I’ll——”
After this the subalterns led their respective divisions at quick march to the gymnastic apparatus, which had been set up in different parts of the parade-ground. Sub-lieutenant Lbov—young, strong, and agile, and also an expert gymnast—threw down his sabre and cap, and ran before the others to one of the bars. Grasping the bar with both his hands, after three violent efforts he made a somersault in the air, threw himself forward and finally landed himself on all fours two yards and a half from the bar.
“Sub-lieutenant Lbov, at your everlasting circus tricks again,” shrieked Captain Sliva in a tone meant to be severe. In his heart the old warrior cherished a sneaking affection for Lbov, who was a thoroughly efficient soldier, and, by his brave bearing, invaluable at parades. “Be good enough to observe the regulation, and keep the other thing till Carnival comes round.”