By-and-by all these anxious, even trembling, candidates were
instructed in the mystery of marching a few steps at command,
how to keep their alignment on the right guide, how to halt, the
facings and all that.
"Now, we'll pass on to learning to count fours, and how to march
off in column of fours," announced Brayton. "Squad halt!" he
commanded hoarsely, in disgust, ere the young men had taken four
steps. "Listen to me more attentively, and try more closely to
follow orders!" glared the young corporal.
After that it seemed as though Cadet Corporal Brayton could have
no other aim in life than to drive his squad of candidates away
from West Point. At almost every move through the drill he
berated them caustically, though in such faultless military language
of reproof as to keep him from censure.
"Dismissed," glared Brayton at last. "The candidates will go to
their rooms until summoned again."
Dick and Greg both felt stiff in the legs. Their backs ached from
the long-continued drilling in what was yet, to them, the rigor of
near-military carriage. Both chums toiled up the stairs to their bare
room.
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