oduce his
full share of usefulness."

"Do you think it's really as bad as that, Prescott?" demanded
Captain Cartwright, who was walking just behind them.

"Worse!" Dick replied dryly and briefly.

Cartwright sighed, then took a tighter grip on the swagger stick
that he carried jauntily in his right hand. Cartwright was a smart,
soldierly looking chap, but was well known as an officer who was
not addicted to hard work.

Past three or four barrack buildings on the street the chums walked,
Cartwright still keeping just behind them.

"Look at the work of Sergeant Mock, will you?" demanded Greg,
halting short as they came to the edge of one of the drill grounds.

Mock belonged to Greg's own company. At this moment the sergeant
was busy, or should have been, drilling what was supposed to be
a platoon, though to-day it consisted of only two corporals' squads,
or sixteen men in all.

Greg Holmes's eyes opened wide with disgust as he watched the
drilling, unseen by the sergeant.

The platoon had just wheeled and marched off by fours. The cadence
was too slow, the men looked slouchy and showed no signs whatever
of spirit.

"Perhaps the sergeant isn't feeling well," remarked Dick, with
a smile.

"He won't be feeling well after he has talked with me," Greg uttered
between his teeth.

To the further limit of the drill ground the sergeant marched
his platoon, then wheeled them and brought them back again. As
he came about the sergeant caught sight of his company commander.
In an undertone he gave an order that brought his men along at
greater speed than they had gone.

"Halt!" ordered the sergeant, and brought up his hand in salute
to the officers.

"Sergeant Mock," called Holmes, in a low, even voice, "turn the
men over to a corporal and come here."

Hastily, and flushing, Sergeant Mock came forward.

"How are the men feeling?" Greg inquired, after signaling the
corporal now in charge to continue the drilling.

"Tired, sir," replied Mock, with a shamefaced look.

"And how is the sergeant feeling?" Greg went on, as the corporal
led the men across the drill ground, this time at a sharper pace
and correcting any fault in soldierly bearing that he observed.

"All right, sir," replied the sergeant.

"Then, if you're feeling all right, Sergeant Mock," Greg continued
in as even a voice as before, "explain to me why you were marching
the platoon at a cadence of about ninety, instead of the regulation
hundred