the other hand there's rifles as Old Nick himself nor nobody else could make shoot straight — ready, George? And it's just the same with kids! Now, if you'll stick your eyes to that glass, and watch the target, you'll see how near she'll come this time — all right, George!" As he speaks the rifle speaks also, and observing the hit on the target, I sing out:
"Three o'clock!"
Ensues more work with the pliers; George loads and fires and with one eye still at the telescope I give him:
"Five o'clock!"
Another moment of adjusting, again the rifle cracks and this time I announce:
"A bull!"
Hereupon my companion squints through the glass and nods: "Right-oh, George!" says he, then, while George the silent stacks the tested rifle with many others, he turns to me and nods, "Got 'im that time, sir — pity it weren't a bloomin' Hun!"
Here the patient Captain suggests we