“No; you want us all to be as stiff as if we had been starched, Stubbs.”
“Well, sir, it looks soldierly, and makes the natives look up to you. You see, we’re such a handful to all the millions and millions here, that I think we English ought always to be seen at our best. But, ’tention! We’ll have that gallop again, sir. You don’t sit up as I should like to see you yet, sir.”
“That’ll come in time, Stubbs. Your way always makes me feel unsafe in the saddle.”
“That’s because you haven’t drilled enough. Now then, sir. Forward at a walk—trot—gallop!” shouted the sergeant so that the rafters rang; and the old horse used for the lessons went round the building at full speed five times before the command “Halt!” was called.
“Hah!” exclaimed the sergeant, with a loud expiration of the breath and a grim smile showing on either side of his heavy moustache; “how long have I had you drilling, sir?”
“Just a month, Stubbs.”
“Yes, just a month. I don’t flatter people, sir.”
“You just don’t, Stubbs,” said the young officer. “You’ve bullied me sometimes as if I were a raw recruit.”
“Oh, that’s my way, sir, to force the teaching home; but I hope I’ve always been respectful to a young officer I felt proud to teach.”
“Ah, well, suppose we call it respectful, Stubbs. You’ve worked me precious hard.”