"How long does it take to convene a court martial?" I asked. "I've
never convened one before."
"What matter the time!" said James grandly. "The mills may grind slowly,
but they grind exceeding small."
"Quite so. But in about an hour and a quarter the guard is changed; and
if, as is probable, the man who insulted me is then on guard himself,
_he_ will have the rifle. And if he has the rifle, I don't quite see how
we are going to shoot him."
"You mean he mightn't give it up?"
"Yes. It would be rank insubordination, I admit, but in the
circumstances one would not be surprised at his attitude."
"That is a good point," said James. "It had escaped me." He was silent
again. "There's another thing, too, I was forgetting," he added. "If he
were shot, his wife might possibly object and make a fuss. The affair
would very likely get into the papers--you know what the Press is. It
might give the Corps a bad name."
We were both silent for a little.
"Suppose," I said, "the death penalty were not enforced, and he were
merely given three days in cells?"
"But he has to get back to his work on Monday."
"True. Really, it's very hard to see how discipline _can_ be maintained.
I almost wish now that I wasn't a temporary non-commissioned officer. As
a private one simply has the time of one's life, telling corporals all
day long to go and boil their heads. I wish I were a private again."
"There's one thing you can do," said James. "You can report him to the
Sergeant of the Guard."
"And what's the good of that?"
"Only that it's probably your duty," said James austerely. "And I should
think it's also your duty to get back to the guard-tent as soon as
possible."