"Not quite so much like an ostrich, Mr. Prescott!" rasped out
Corporal Brayton severely.
Dick flushed painfully, all the more so because he heard one of the
other candidates snicker.
"Stop that laughing, Mr. Danvers!" commanded Corporal Brayton.
Greg, in trying to get the right position, had so exaggerated it that
now he found himself trembling from the strain of trying to
maintain that position.
"What ails you, Mr. Holmes!" demanded Brayton, with withering
scorn.
"I--I was trying to get the right position, sir," stammered Greg,
reddening.
"That isn't the position of even a respectable dromedary, Mr.
Holmes," rejoined the cadet corporal crisply.
Then he poured a storm of refined abuse upon Greg. It wasn't
intended entirely for Greg, but for the benefit of all the awkwardly
standing green candidates. Not a word in Brayton's remarks went
beyond the limits of strict military propriety, yet every word cut.
"My, but I'd like to fall out and give this fellow a licking!"
muttered Greg to himself.
"Mr. Holmes," observed Cadet Corporal Brayton dryly, "clenched
fists do not go with the position of the soldier.
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