Again the blood shot up to the roots of Greg's hair, suffusing his
face. But Mr. Brayton had already turned to another candidate
whom he found in a ludicrously bad position. After some minutes
of this attempt to instruct the candidates in the seemingly simple
matter of standing correctly, Brayton gave the welcome order to
rest.

By this time four other awkward squads were at the same work.

"I wish we had our uniforms," whispered Greg. "I'd feel better."

"I am glad I haven't a uniform yet," returned Dick in an equally
low voice. "I realize how like a fool I'd look in it when I don't even
know how to stand, let alone attempting to walk in a uniform. Just
look at the magnificent carriage of the man that's drilling us!"

"I'd like to hammer him until he needed a carriage to get anywhere
in," muttered Greg vengefully. "That corporal is a brute, without a
vestige of good breeding."

"Then, for a fellow without breeding, he certainly carries himself
like a king," retorted Dick. "At least, I don't believe any European
prince has half as fine a carriage as Mr. Brayton."

"I wonder if they're all as bad as this corporal," demanded Greg.
"Brayton is a tyrant in gray."

"Greg! Greg! Get a brace on yourself, old fellow," whispered Dick
warningly. "This is only the morning of the first day, and we have