"Party!" he roared. "Shunsuwere!" We gave two convulsive jerks. "Smarten up there, smarten HUP! Get a move on! This ain't a waxwork. Shunsuwere!... Shun!! Party present, Sir."
The Major inspected us.
"I don't like this smear, Sergeant," he said, pointing to Ansell's upper lip.
Seymour examined the feature in question.
"It don't appear to be dirt, Sir. Some sort o' growth, I think. You try sand-papering it, me lad, an' you'll find it come orf all right."
"Very good, Sergeant," answered Ansell solemnly.
The Major proceeded to Haynes, and eyed him with disfavour.
"We can't do nothing with this man, Sir," said Seymour deprecatingly. "'Is legs is that bandy."
"What do you mean, Private Haynes, by appearing on ceremonial parade with a pair of bandy legs?"
"It wasn't my fault, Sir. 'Strewth, it wasn't. They got wet, Sir, an' I went an' dried 'em at the cook'ouse fire, Sir, an' they got warped, Sir."