The Captain drums his fingers on the table for a few moments. “This is your first offence, Smith.”
“Yessir!”
“But it is not made any the less serious by that fact.”
The gleam of joy in Smith’s eye departs.
“Disobedience of an order is no trivial matter. A case like this should go before the Commanding Officer.”
Long pause, during which the accused passes from the stage of hope deferred to gloom and disillusion, and the orderly Sergeant assumes a fiercely triumphant expression.
“Twenty-eight days Field Punishment number one,” murmurs the Captain ruminatively, “or a court-martial”—this just loud enough for the accused to hear. The latter’s left leg sags a trifle, and consternation o’erspreads his visage.
“In view, Smith,” says the Captain aloud, “in view of your previous good record, I will deal with you myself. Four days dixie washing, and you will attend all parades!”
Before Private Smith has time to heave a sigh of relief the C.S.M.’s voice breaks on the air, “Left turrn! Left wheel, quick marrch!”
“A good man, Sergeant-Major,” says the Captain with a smile. “Have to scare ’em a bit at times, what?”