There was boxing.
"'It 'im," yelled Brown; "you ain't doin' a foxtrot! Bite 'is ear orf! Make 'is nose bleed!"
Their noses bled.
There were bayonet charges on stuffed sacks.
"Kick 'em," roared Brown, leaping round like a dervish; "make faces at 'em! I want to see ye getting uglier every minute."
They grew uglier.
Half-an-hour later the squad, limp and perspiring, lay down for a rest.
"Well, you've not done too bad," said Brown; "you're all breathin', anyway. Get dressed now, and don't be 'alf-an-hour at it. Don't forget, my lads, 'ustle's the word what makes such men as me—and you too by the time I've finished with you. I'll make it a bit stiffer to-morrow."
He strolled off.
A voice arose from the squad:—