"Now, young fellow, what do you mean?"
"Just 'aving a little lark, major," he answered casually.
"Stand to attention, and 'sir' me when you speak."
"You'll make us laugh," said the man in a familiar way. The other Bushmen craned their necks. They were interested. They knew that Grouse had gone over the score, and they waited to see the stuff that the sergeant-major was made of. It was, in fact, the psychological moment which makes or mars the reputation of a sergeant-major in such a corps. The sergeant-major knew it.
"Look here, young man, I make great allowance for inexperience, for none of you have been soldiers before, but I make no allowance for insolence. Take off your coat."
"What!"
"Take off your coat," said the sergeant-major with emphasis, at the same time throwing off his own. The man followed suit.
"Now step out here, and we'll decide who's going to run this show."
Then the unexpected happened. The man shoved out his hand. "Shake, sir; you're a good fellow. I'm afeard of no man, but I won't fight you, for I'm in the wrong."
"Well, you're a man, anyway," said Jones, shaking him cordially by the hand, while the whole squad gave out a thrilling cheer.