"Sergeant," said one of the Lieutenants who happened to be passing, "keep your temper. You'll get along better. Don't squabble with your men."
This made the boys much worse.
"What I mean by countin' twos," explained Si, "is that the man on the right in each rank shall count one, the next one, two; the next one, one and so on. Count twos!"
They made such an exasperating muddle of it, that Si almost had a fit. The cooks, teamsters and other hangers-on saw the trouble and came flocking around with all manner of jesting remarks and laughter, which strained Si's temper to the utmost, and encouraged the boys in their perversity. Si curbed himself down, and laboriously exemplified the manner of counting until the boys had no excuse for not understanding it.
"Now, said he, at the command 'Right face,' the No. 1 man in the front rank faces to the right and stand fast—"
"What do the rest of us do?" they chorused.
"The rest o' you chase yourselves around him," said a humorist among the cooks, while the others laughed uproariously.
"Shut up, you pot-wrastlers," said Si wrathfully. "If I hear another word from you, I'll light into you with a club. Now you brats—"
"Sergeant," admonished the Lieutenant, "you mustn't use such language to your men."
This made Si angrier, and the boys more cantankerous. Si controlled himself to go on with his explanations in a calm tone: