Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 189, No. 4 — page 64: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

534 * Right wheel ” and “ Forward, march ” at Camberham was known as “ Quick, march.” Even the manner of saluting was different, the English method being to carry the hand to the forehead, palm forward. “Gawd blimy!”’ Corporal Robinson pro- tested. ‘Are you chaps ’olding your fin- gers to your noses at me? Nah, then, again! Right ’and salute! Left ’and sa- lute! Now, let’s see you put a little snap in it on the march. Quick, march! Right— left—right—left! Keep that step—you don’t need a bloomin’ brass band to ’elp you! Don’t let Sergeant Narley see you or he'll wake you up—” But Sergeant Narley, even in the midst of two thousand men all drilling at once, could pick out the laggards. He appeared suddenly at the corporal’s elbow, a swag- ger stick of bamboo pointing at the awk- ward squad. “Little doublin’ is what they need,” he snarled, “ [’ll take ’em, corporal, for a few minutes an’ smarten them up.” His plan of smartening was simple, con- sisting of keeping the squad at double time for most of the drill period. Running, even at the trotting military pace, is hot work on a warm day on a shadowless, baking parade ground. Narley stood on one spot, turning slowly around like a ring master at a circus and snapped his verbal whip frequently over the heads of the puffing recruits. “About turn! Lift your feet around! About turn! About turn! You'll be diz- zier before you’re through—left—right— left—right—move your feet—catch up with the rest, that man—you’re in the army now, not pickin’ rags—wake up that Ruffit—ruf- fian—about turn—are you on our side, Canadian—if you are turn with the rest— none of your tricks—” The ‘“ Canadian” was having a hard time. Clouds of choking, yellow dust rose from the gravel under the scuffling feet of the squad, caking on the perspiration that drenched his face. But the rest were no better off. They stumbled along, bumping into one another on the turns, scrambling to catch up with the others, panting, gasp- ing, heads hanging like men at the end of a long race. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, The sharp voice of Sergeant Narley, menacing and monotonous as the rattle of a machine gun, followed them up and down, around and around, minute after minute, penetrating through the shuffle of feet, throbbing of temples and the noise from the other squads. ‘About turn! Sharp, now! Gawd ’elp the regiment with the like of you to depend on. You’re like a bunch of wild cattle! Step out in front, damn your lazy ’earts! Get back in line, that man! Left turn! Right turn! About turn! Stead-dy! What’s the matter with ’im—is he drunk? Halt!” The line of men stood, swaying on their feet, breasts heaving, and watched the ami- able and ungainly Ruffit, who had dropped like a man blackjacked under the feet of the squad. Tuesday started forward to aid him. “Back there, you!” Narley snapped. “Another move out of you an’ you'll be in the book for a pack drill. Here, you an’ you! Take ’im off to the side an’ throw some water on ’im.” His stick indicated Harmon and _his neighbor. They lifted Ruffit between them and carried him off to the shade of a tree by the huts, and loosened the collar of his tunic and presently Ruffit’s eyes blinked open. “Feel better?” Harmon inquired anx- iously. “ Kinda sickish, mate. It was fair ’ell for me. I ain’t used to it.” The brigade sergeant-major, a magnifi- cent and immaculate being in pipe-clayed belt, approached. He carried the royal coat of arms embroidered on his sleeve and a sil- ver-headed stick beneath his arm, was sus- pected by the recruits of wearing stays to retain his wasplike waist, and was as stately and frozen and dignified as a Hindu god. His large mustache, suitable for a large man, was waxed into darning needle points six inches long. “ What’s the trouble with this man?” he boomed. | . “Felt a bit light in the ’ead, sir,’ said Ruffit. ‘ Fell out—”’ “Best go sick, my man,” the brigade s.-m. said, not unkindly. ‘“ Let the medi- (E(0) .DOOKS ANCE (E@)