The Flag of their Country
It was winter and bitter cold of mornings. Consequently Stalky and Beetle—M'Turk—being of the offensive type that makes ornate toilet under all circumstances—drowsed till the last moment before turning out to call-over in the gas-lit gymnasium. It followed that they were often late; and since every unpunctuality earned them a black mark, and since three black marks a week meant defaulters' drill, equally it followed that they spent hours under the Sergeant's hand. Foxy drilled the defaulters with all the pomp of his old parade-ground.
'Don't think it's any pleasure to me' (his introduction never varied). 'I'd much sooner be smoking a quiet pipe in my own quarters—but I see we 'ave the Old Brigade on our 'ands this afternoon. If I only 'ad you regular, Muster Corkran,' said he, dressing the line.
'You've had me for nearly six weeks, you old glutton. Number off from the right!'
'Not quite so previous, please. I'm taking this drill. Left, half—turn! Slow—march.' Twenty-five sluggards, all old offenders, filed into the
