It wasn't intended entirely for Greg, but for the benefit of all the awkwardly standing green candidates.

Not a word in Brayton's remarks went beyond the limits of strict military propriety, yet every word cut.
"My, but I'd like to fall out and give this fellow a licking!" muttered Greg to himself.
"Mr.Holmes," observed Cadet Corporal Brayton dryly, "clenched fists do not go with the position of the soldier.

Let your hands fall naturally at your sides, each little finger resting against the seam of the trousers, or where you judge the seam to be." Again the blood shot up to the roots of Greg's hair, suffusing his face.

But Mr.Brayton had already turned to another candidate whom he found in a ludicrously bad position.

After some minutes of this attempt to instruct the candidates in the seemingly simple matter of standing correctly, Brayton gave the welcome order to rest.
By this time four other awkward squads were at the same work.
"I wish we had our uniforms," whispered Greg.