It was part of his own training to learn how to whip an awkward squad into time in the shortest possible order.
By-and-by all these anxious, even trembling, candidates were instructed in the mystery of marching a few steps at command, how to keep their alignment on the right guide, how to halt, the facings and all that.
"Now, we'll pass on to learning to count fours, and how to march off in column of fours," announced Brayton.

"Squad halt!" he commanded hoarsely, in disgust, ere the young men had taken four steps.

"Listen to me more attentively, and try more closely to follow orders!" glared the young corporal.
After that it seemed as though Cadet Corporal Brayton could have no other aim in life than to drive his squad of candidates away from West Point.

At almost every move through the drill he berated them caustically, though in such faultless military language of reproof as to keep him from censure.
"Dismissed," glared Brayton at last.

"The candidates will go to their rooms until summoned again." Dick and Greg both felt stiff in the legs.