To-day the company had been shooting, and now it was musketry inspection. George had at first entrusted this to the sergeant-major alone, but at the last moment he thought it was his duty to make a personal inspection. He came quite unexpectedly. The men were drawn up in the corridor, and as George mounted the steps he heard from above such a shower of curses that he hurried on. The cry, "The lieutenant is coming!" produced absolute silence in a moment, and the sergeant-major hastened towards him to salute him.
"But, sergeant, whatever is the matter? You know how our captain insists upon a good tone in the company, and I should not like there to be any difference in his absence. What has happened?"
"Nothing, sir. The lieutenant knows how everything sounds in the corridor if one speaks a little louder than usual, and one has to do that to make one's self understood. Perhaps it was I was a little angry with a man whose gun was badly cleaned."
"Don't get angry with him, but make a note of it and inspect the gun again."
"Certainly, sir. I will attend to your commands."
George was standing on one side with the sergeant-major, and now he dismissed him. "Go on with your inspection."
The sergeant-major went back to his place, and George walked slowly along the line, examining the men's uniforms. Suddenly he stopped in front of a soldier.
"Petersen, what have you done to yourself?"
The man had a swollen and inflamed eye and a great boil on his forehead which prevented him from wearing his cap properly.
"You look horrible. What has happened to you?" inquired George once more.