"Sergeant Mock," called Holmes, in a low, even voice, "turn the
men over to a corporal and come here."

Hastily, and flushing, Sergeant Mock came forward.

"How are the men feeling?" Greg inquired, after signaling the
corporal now in charge to continue the drilling.

"Tired, sir," replied Mock, with a shamefaced look.

"And how is the sergeant feeling?" Greg went on, as the corporal
led the men across the drill ground, this time at a sharper pace
and correcting any fault in soldierly bearing that he observed.

"All right, sir," replied the sergeant.

"Then, if you're feeling all right, Sergeant Mock," Greg continued
in as even a voice as before, "explain to me why you were marching
the platoon at a cadence of about ninety, instead of the regulation
hundred and twenty steps per minute. Tell me why the alignment
of the fours was poor, and why the men were allowed to march without
paying the slightest heed to their bearing."

Though there was nothing at all sharp in the company commander's
voice, Mock knew that he was being "called," and, in fact, was
perilously close to being "cussed out."

"The---the day is hot, sir, and---and I knew the men were about
played out," stammered Mock.