Lieutenant Bedford, traces of sleepiness still in his eyes, came forward and took charge of the platoon. He thrust out his arm, exposing a small gold wrist-watch beneath his cuff. Giving the watch an off-hand glance, he raised his voice: “All right, men, if you’ll keep one foot in place I’ll give you at ease. No talking.” He walked to the rear of the platoon and began to converse with Sergeant Harriman. “Pipe down, you men, or you’ll stand at attention!” Sergeant Harriman commanded. The company commander came. He stood before the company and received the lieutenant’s report. The company, which had been called to attention during the formality, was given at ease again. They stood shuffling their feet. One man surreptitiously drew from his pocket a piece of tobacco, bit loose a small portion of it and returned it, unnoticed. An hour passed. Along the line voices were heard to remark: “Are we gonna stay here all day? They might at least feed us before they break us out like this. A hell of a note.” Sergeant Harriman rose grandly to the occasion. “Shut up, you bunch of agitators. I’ll drill you till your shoes fall off.” “You wouldn’t have to drill me much. Mine already have holes in them,” some one remarked. “Who said that?” Sergeant Harriman was furious. Lieutenant Bedford stepped in front of the platoon and called the men to attention. The second hour had passed. A huge touring-car rounded the road and stopped. The company commander, in magnificent tones, commanded them: “Company at-ten-shun. Open ranks. March.... Steady.... Front.” He saluted Major-General Bumble, who had stepped out of the touring-car. “How do you do, captain.” The major-general, followed by his lieutenant, followed by another, followed by the company commander, followed by the first sergeant, walked pompously along the line of the front rank. The driver of the touring-car sent his car smoothly between the ranks. At the other end of the company the car stopped. The major-general, the lieutenant with the curled mustache, and another officer, climbed in and the car spurted away. The ranks were closed, the company was reprimanded for its slovenly appearance and dismissed. * * * * * Instead of measuring up to the platoon’s conception of a rest camp, the routine was more like that of an intensive training camp. Each morning there were close-order drills, at which Sergeant Harriman would distinguish himself by giving the platoon a difficult command: “To the rear, squads right about, right by squads, on right into line,” he would proudly call off, ending with a very sharp “March!” For a while the platoon obeyed, and in an orderly manner carried out the command. One day, after Sergeant Harriman had given the command of execution, the right guide of the platoon continued to march forward. “What’s the matter there, right guide? Can’t you hear? Platoon, halt!”