“As you were,” shouted the top sergeant jovially.
Gluey oatmeal and greasy bacon were hurriedly bolted down, and every man in the company, his heart pounding, ran to the barracks to do up his pack, feeling proud under the envious eyes of the company at the other end of the shack that had received no orders.
When the packs were done up, they sat on the empty hunks and drummed their feet against the wooden partitions waiting.
“I don't suppose we'll leave here till hell freezes over,” said Meadville, who was doing up the last strap on his pack.
“It's always like this.... You break your neck to obey orders an'...”
“Outside!” shouted the sergeant, poking his head in the door.
“Fall in! Atten-shun!”
The lieutenant in his trench coat and in a new pair of roll puttees stood facing the company, looking solemn.
“Men,” he said, biting off his words as a man bites through a piece of hard stick candy; “one of your number is up for courtmartial for possibly disloyal statements found in a letter addressed to friends at home. I have been extremely grieved to find anything of this sort in any company of mine; I don't believe there is another man in the company... low enough to hold... entertain such ideas....”
Every man in the company stuck out his chest, vowing inwardly to entertain no ideas at all rather than run the risk of calling forth such disapproval from the lieutenant. The lieutenant paused: