Peter considered that.
“I want to begin in the ranks.... I want discipline.”
(Had some moral miracle happened to Peter? This was quite a new note from our supercilious foster brother.)
“You’ll get discipline enough in the cadet corps.”
“I want to begin right down at the bottom of the ladder.”
“Well, if you get a rotten drill sergeant, I’m told, it’s disagreeable.”
“All the better.”
“They’ll find you out and push you into a commission,” said Oswald. “If not, it’s sheer waste.”
“Well, I want to feel what discipline is like—before I give orders,” said Peter. “I want to be told to do things and asked why the devil I haven’t done ’em smartly. I’ve been going too easy. The ranks will brace me up.”
(Yes, this was a new note. Had that delay of four or five days anything to do with this?... Joan, with a start, discovered that she was holding up the dinner, and touched the electric bell at her side for the course to be changed.)