Si patiently repeated the explanation.
"Now sing it to the tune of 'When this Cruel War is Over,' called out the cook-humorist.
"Right face," commanded Si.
A roar went up from the camp-follower audience at the hopeless tangle which ensued. No two of the boys seemed to have done the same thing. Several had turned to the left, and all were sprinting around in various ways in a more or less genuine pretense of executing the order. Meanwhile the news that Si's squad of recruits were having fun with him spread through the camp, and a crowd gathered to watch the performance and give their jeering advice in that characteristic soldierly way when they see a comrade wrestling with a perplexing job.
"Git a bushel basket, and gather 'em up in it."
"Tie straw around their left feet, and hay around their right ones, so's they'll know 'em."
"Back 'em up agin' a rail fence and git 'em into line;" were among the freely offered suggestions. Si was sweating all over, and so angry that he had to stolidly bite his words off, one at a time, to keep from showing his temper. To add to his troubles, he saw the Colonel, of whom he stood in proper awe, become interested in the crowd and the shouting, and stroll down from his tent to see what the excitement was.
"As you were," Si commanded, steadying his voice with a great effort. "Every one of you git back as I placed you. Right dress!"
To his wonderment they formed as good a line as veterans could have done. They heard a whisper that the Colonel was coming, and it sobered them.
"Right face!" commanded Si.