Up went our right hands and our heads turned smartly to the left, while the Sergeant shouted, "One, two, three, four, five, six, _Dahn!_" whereupon we brought our hands smartly down to our sides and turned our heads to the front again. We marched to and fro saluting imaginary officers with our left hands, it may have been twenty times, it may have been fifty, we were so overcome with infinite boredom that we regarded everything with complete apathy and could not trouble to count. Then, by way of variety, we saluted with our right hands, and some more dreary minutes passed by. Then we stood to attention and saluted to the front. Finally, in order to complete our mastery of the art, each man had to leave the ranks in turn and salute the Sergeant in passing. Some of us did so clumsily and incorrectly and were sent back in order to repeat the performance. Although each one dreaded his own turn, lest he should make himself look ridiculous, yet the mistakes made by the others were greatly enjoyed, so that when five or six men saluted without a single error there was general disappointment. But consolation was at hand, for the next man walked past the Sergeant with trembling knees. He was so hampered by nervous fright that he saluted awkwardly and with the wrong hand. There was loud laughter and the Sergeant, simulating an outburst of intense fury, roared at the unfortunate man, "Use a bit o' common sense, can't yer! Yer in the bleed'n' army now, yer not at 'ome wi' a nurse to look arter yer! Get back an' bloody well do it agin!" The man's nervousness increased, his mouth was open and his eyes were staring. With a violent effort of the will he mastered his fear and saluted correctly although in a grotesque and ungainly fashion. We began to pity him, but one of our number, a man with long arms, a low forehead, and a protruding jaw, shouted, "Make 'im do it agin, Sergeant." The Sergeant swung round and bellowed--he was really angry this time: "What's the matter wi' yer? 'Oo told you to interfere? Mind yer own bloody business! Come an' do it yerself an' show us what yer made of." We applauded this utterance, while the nervous individual slunk back in the ranks, thankful that attention had been distracted from him. The man addressed stepped out with swaggering alacrity. We hoped he would make a mistake and were ready to jeer and laugh at him. But to our great annoyance his salute was perfect, affectedly perfect. As he came back to the ranks he leered horribly at the Sergeant and then looked at us with a smirk of triumph and self-congratulation. More men were called out, one after the other, but as there were no further displays of pitiable shyness or nervous embarrassment (although errors were frequent) the proceedings began to bore us intensely, and once again we counted the minutes and longed for the end of the afternoon.