ers were lying around as
thick as flies. We were brushing them off.

After several hair-raising exhibitions he formed us into two lines
facing each other and told us to begin.

"Now lunge," he said, "and look as if you meant business."

I glanced ingratiatingly across at my adversary. He was simply glaring
at me. Never have I seen an expression of greater ferocity. It was too
much. I knew for certain that if he ever lunged at me I'd never live
to draw another yellow slip.

"Mister Officer," I gasped, pointing across at this blood-thirsty man,
"don't you think that he's just a little too close? I'm afraid I might
hurt him by accident."

The officer surveyed the situation with a swift, practical eye.

"Oh, I guess he can take care of himself all right," he replied. That
was just what I feared.

The man smiled grimly.

"But does he know that this is only practise?" I continued. "He
certainly doesn't look as if he did."

"That's the way you should look," said the officer, "work your own
face up a bit. This isn't a vampire scene. Don't look as if you were
going to lure him. Y'know you're supposed to be angry with your
opponent when you meet him in battle, quite put out in fact. And
furthermore you're supposed to look it."

I regarded my opponent, but only terror was written on my face. Then
suddenly we lunged and either through fear or mismanagement I
succeeded only in running my bayonet deep into the ground. In some
strange manner the butt of the gun jabbed me in the stomach and I was
completely winded. My opponent was dancing and darting around me like
a local but thorough-going lightning storm. I abandoned my gun and
stood sideways, thus decreasing the possible area of danger. Had the
exercises continued much longer I would have had a spell of something,
probably the blind staggers.

[Illustration: "I STOOD SIDE-WAYS, THUS DECREASING THE POSSIBLE AREA
OF DANGER"]

"You're not pole vaulting," said the instructor to me, as he returned
the gun. "In a real show you'd have looked like a pin cushion by this
time." I felt like one.

Then it all started over again and this time I thought I was doing a
little better, when quite unexpectedly the instructor shouted at me.

"Stop prancing around in that silly manner," he cried, "you're not
doing a sword dance, sonny."

"He thinks he's still a show girl," some one chuckled, "he's that
seductive."

Mess gear interrupted our happy morning. The sight of a knife fair