Which do you want ?" Tugging his sock on, Mock merely mumbled.
"Answer me!" Greg insisted sharply.
"I---I'll do my best to march, sir." "Then be sure you're ready by the time B company gets here, and be sure you march all the way in," Greg ordered sternly.

He hated a shamming imitation of a soldier.
Major Bell and his staff came by at the head of the line, followed by Prescott and A company.
"Don't disappoint me, Sergeant," Greg warned his man.
Though his brow was black with wrath Sergeant Mock stood up by the time that the head of B company arrived.
"Take your place, Sergeant," Greg ordered, and waited to see his order obeyed, next running up to his own post.
Ten minutes later, as a group of carpenters from the rifle range paused at the roadside, Greg chanced to glance backward.

He was just in time to see Sergeant Mock limping out of the line of file-closers to sit down at the roadside.
His jaws set, Greg Holmes darted back.
"That's enough of this, Mock," he called.

"You can't sham in B company.

Your feet, I suppose ?" "Yes, sir," groaned the sergeant.
"First two men of the rear four of B company fall out and come here," Captain Holmes shouted.
Instantly the two men detached themselves from the company and came running back.
"Fix your bayonets," Greg ordered.