“Yes, another load to carry around in the broiling sun,” said Harry, with a groan. “Just as if we didn’t have enough now. Say, fellows,” he went on, with a sigh, “do I bend over backwards when I stand up?” and he stood up straight and turned slowly around.
“Bend over backwards? What do you mean?” asked Tom.
“I mean I’ve been hollered at so much to ‘straighten up’ that I’m sure I must be getting curvature of the spine the wrong way.”
“They certainly do throw it into us,” observed Tom, sympathetically.
“All that fierce drill-master of ours can think to call us is ‘wooden’ and ‘gross’,” went on Harry. “I’m sick of the sound of it. But maybe if we get the guns it won’t be so bad. It’ll be a change, anyhow, and give ’em a chance to ring in some new terms of abuse.”
Up to now the new cadets had drilled without weapons. But that day, as Tom had anticipated, rifles were issued to those farthest advanced, including our three friends. The “plebes” were divided into squads, the least proficient being dubbed “goats” and Tom and his chums rejoiced that this was not their fate.
It was the first day of the drill with arms, and what little knowledge the boys seemed to have previously acquired appeared to be oozing away from them, as they were told how to handle the rifles.
The cadet drill-master waxed wroth, and when Tom saw, coming toward the squad he was in, Captain Hawkesbury, with a look of contempt on his flushed face, our hero thought to himself:
“Here’s where we get it.”
And they did. The old army officer, whatever else he was, was a good soldier and disciplinarian, and he and the cadet officer put the plebes through their paces without mercy.