For the next hour or two Dick was going through the customary instruction, and being barked at with the rest, ordered here and there, made to perform the balance-step, and put through his facings generally. The sergeant bullied him in the time-worn style, and stared at him as if he had never seen him before, till the recruits were drawn up in line, hot, weary and worried; for, though the stout sergeant was not very active, he did not spare himself, much less the fresh, raw lads he was drilling into shape.
Then, after some exceedingly severe strictures, he turned suddenly to Dick.
“Here you, Number Fourteen; you’ve been through all this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hah! Taught by some clumsy worn-out duffer who belonged to the old school! You’ve a lot to learn, my lad, but you needn’t stop with this rough lot; you can drill with one of the regular squads.”
Some of the men turned to look sourly at the new recruit, and were yelled at by the sergeant.
“Eyes front!” he roared. “Keep your heads up there! I’m speaking to Number Four from the left, not to you! Steady there! Right face! Dis—miss!”
The rank was broken, and, as the tired squad hurried off to the barrack-room, the sergeant drew his cane from under his arm, and called to Dick, the stern, rigid look giving place to a pleasant, cheery smile as he shook hands.
“You meant it, then?” he said.
“Yes, I meant it,” replied Dick, smiling back.