"Are you pure as the driven snow?" the file closer continues. He is one of those boys that call a spade an entrenching tool.
"Yes, sir," the plebe replies virtuously.
"Well, raise your chest up. There's very few of us left!"
"Some pretty femmes out there today," the corporal at Number Four ventures.
"Pretty! Don't make me laugh!" This from Number Three. "Why, there are more pretty femmes walking down Peachtree Street in Atlanta than there are in all New York."
The band, returning to its post, halts, "Sounds Off" again, and, because this is Sunday, breaks into "Nearer My God to Thee" so that all and sundry may realize this is the Sabbath. The buglers sound "Retreat" and the sunset gun barks. Kaydets snicker as the cits jump at the report. The battalion come to attention and then to "Present Arms" as the National Anthem is played. Then the adjutant publishes the orders, officers and guidons go front and center and the Corps passes in review.
"With measured tread, battalions pass to urgent beat of drums. A clank of arms--the Corps has marched into the dusk. Then all is still.