Besides, I am only "old Beetle."

They found the posts in the tool-shed, and, borne upon the initial
enthusiasm of their venture, began to sink a sort of winze on each
side of the lawn. Up to this point they were perfectly amicable.

Then Nevin, who is a thoughtful person, said suddenly, "I suppose you
made quite sure that the line of these posts will cross the centre of
the court?" And then, before Bob could retort, added, "Of course you
ought to have made absolutely certain of that. As it is we had better
leave this and find the corner irons."

Corner irons that have remained undisturbed for some twenty-four
months have a way of concealing themselves. At the end of ten minutes
the seekers began to show signs of impatience. Such terms as "angles,"
"bases," "centres," interspersed with "futilass," "sodamsure,"
"knowseverything" were cast upon a hazardous breeze.

Eventually they found one of the angles. To the ordinary layman this
would have meant the beginning of the end. But Captain Richard Nevin
and Second-Lieutenant Robert Simpson are made of different stuff. They
scorn the easy path. They have stores of deep knowledge to draw upon
which place their calculations beyond the ken of ordinary mortals.
After they had made a searching examination of the exhumed angle, Bob
pulled out a pencil, prostrated himself behind it and then proceeded
to gaze ecstatically over the top.

I moved my chair slightly south, and pretended to regard the
apple-blossom, and when Nevin went into the house and brought out
something which dimly resembled a ship's sextant I had the extreme
presence of mind not to make any inquiries.

Margery drifted up with a pink duster.

"What ever are they doing?" she asked.

"Hush!" I whispered; "Bob has just got the range of a supply train on
the far side of the rockery, and if Nevin (Nevin is the Crown Prince
of Wurtemberg) doesn't get the longitude of Bob's battery in the next
minute or so it's all up with his day's rations."

Suddenly Bob rose and made some calculations on an old envelope.

"That means three rounds battery fire," I said, "and the Prince loses
his lunch."

Not satisfied with this success, Bob went indoors and looted the hall
of three walking-sticks and Margery's new sunshade.

"What's he going to do now?" said Margery, with one eye on the
sunshade.

He walked to the far end of the lawn and manoeuvred in a small circle.
"The water-jackets are boiling," I replied, "and they'v