Infantry drills fill the remainder of the afternoon until 5:00 P.M., when there comes a chance to wash away the grime before retreat. Immediately after the lowering of the flag each afternoon is an inspection in ranks, for which all plebes must be carefully groomed. Each man must appear with immaculate linen and with his blouse and cap, and shoes carefully brushed. Mr. Ducrot dreads the inspection more than any other duty. Despite his care in dressing, the inspectors are sure to espy a tiny wisp from the clothes brush clinging to his cap or blouse, whereupon His Highness says:
“What do you mean by falling into ranks covered with straw?” Perhaps Mr. Ducrot is just seventeen years old with only a soupçon of hair on his face.
“Why, what’s this,” inquires a sharp-eyed inspector. “Mr. Ducrot, why didn’t you shave today? I see three hairs sticking out of your chin. Drag in your chin.”
Mr. Ducrot’s sense of humor overcomes him even in his miserable state of mind and the corners of his mouth begin to twitch.
“Wipe that smile off your face!” commands the cadet officer.
Up goes the hand: the offending emotion is erased.
“Now, Mr. Ducrot, throw it upon the ground and stamp upon it. Don’t you ever again smile in ranks.” Mr. Ducrot begins to feel that the Wrathful Ones are quite human after all and he feels cheered up for the remainder of the day. Up and down the line walk the cadet officers inspecting and “bracing” the plebes, commanding:
“Get your shoulders back! More yet! More yet!”
“Hold your head up; drag in your chin!”
“Suck up your stomach! Lean forward on your hips!” and so on.