“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. That will be all for the present. You may go.”
Saluting, Schnitzel wheeled and walked briskly from the room.
An oppressive silence fell as the sound of his retreating footfalls died out, during which the K. O. coldly scrutinized the pair before him. When at last he spoke, he addressed himself to Bixton.
“According to the testimony of two men, you were behaving in a suspicious manner when Pulinski attacked you. If you were on your way to get a drink of water, why did you stop to prowl about another man’s cot?”
“I didn’t stop on purpose, sir,” denied Bixton. “I stumbled and nearly fell. In the dark it might have looked different to those two men, though.”
“I’d advise you to carry yourself so straight hereafter that what you do won’t ‘look different’ to any man in your barrack,” was the sarcastic retort. “Mind your own business, and keep to your own side of the squad room.
“As for you,” he stared hard at Ignace, “keep your too-ready fists to yourself. A rowdy who can’t control himself isn’t fit to be a soldier. Loss of self-control in war time has put more than one man against a blank wall, facing a firing squad. If you see a man acting in what you think is a suspicious manner, report him to your sergeant. Don’t fly at him like a savage and start to pummel him. Leave discipline to your officers. That’s what they’re here for.
“You two men are both guilty of disgraceful and disorderly conduct. If you’re ever brought on the carpet again for fighting or misbehavior in barracks it will go hard with you. You will be confined to your company street for thirty days, without privileges and with extra fatigue. If that doesn’t teach you soldierly behavior, we have stronger methods of dealing with such ruffians as you.”
Having delivered himself of a few further biting remarks relative to his highly uncomplimentary opinion of both men, the K. O. ordered them back to barracks, instructing the sergeant to keep a close watch on them, and see that his orders regarding them went into instant effect.