The twilight creeps, the sun has gone,
But triumph fills the soldier's breast;
He's sewn his back brace-buttons on
While fully dressed!
JAMES FEELS BETTER.
The Sergeant-Major was speaking.
"Company—'SHUN!"
We 'shunned. We stood motionless (all but one of us) waiting for his next words. Then he spoke again.
"Blank blanket," he yelled, "what the blank are you doing?" He was looking at me, and my heart was in my mouth. "Blanket," he went on, "if you want to scratch your nose, step out here and scratch it. My blank!" My heart dropped back again. He must be talking to James behind me. I longed to look round and watch the generous waves of colour stealing over James's classic features, to fix with a reproachful eye that Roman proboscis which he had been grooming; but duty, or natural integrity of character, or fear of the Sergeant-Major, or something, held me fast.