‘Draw—so! Slope—so! Prep—air! Prove distance!’ and so on.
‘Pursuin’ practice. One. Cut—thrust—parry. Two. Cut—thrust—parry. Shunt Now from the word of command, right through. Sword exercise. Prep—air! Prove distance—go! Shun! Pursuin’ practice I Prep—air! Go! Shun! That’s all right, sir. Ever been in the service before, young feller?’
‘No,’ said Polson. ‘I always meant to join, and I thought I’d get ready as far as I could.’
‘Now look here, my lad,’ said the Sergeant. ‘You’ve been through the mill before, you have. You’re a deserter, you know, that’s what you are.’
Polson laughed. He had thought never to laugh again, but the accusation tickled him.
‘I beg your pardon, Captain Volnay,’ he said, saluting in officer’s fashion—the only way he had been taught; ‘but perhaps you will speak up for me.’
‘Deserter?’ said Volnay. ‘Rubbish! Known the man for years. Always keen on the service, and got ready for it. Jervase.’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You’re a pretty good shot, I gather?’ ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Any instruction in musketry?’ ‘Pretty fair, sir.’
‘Put him through his facings, Sergeant, in the riding school at four o’clock this afternoon. I’ll be there. You hear, Jervase?’