. . . Good work! Any enemy, struck like that in earnest, could
safely be left to himself. Dobson, you be the fleeing enemy this
time. Aldrich, take the blob-stick."

One after another the men of the skeletonized platoon took their
try with the blob-stick. As is usual in the run of human affairs,
some of the men made the thrust excellently, others indifferently,
and some missed altogether.

"Rest," ordered the lieutenant, presently, and the men stood at
ease in the platoon line.

"Some of you men do not get hold of this bayonet work as well
as I could wish," Dick spoke up, all eyes turned on him. "The
man who learns his bayonet work thoroughly has a reasonably good
chance of coming back from Europe alive. The man who learns it
indifferently has very little chance of seeing his native land
at the close of the war. Remember that. Bayonet fighting is
one of the things no American soldier can afford to be dull about.
Lieutenant Morris, if you will pick up a blob-stick we can show
these men some of the value of swift work in the simpler thrusts
and parries."

Each armed with a blob-stick, captain and second lieutenant faced
each other. Dick, scowling as though facing an enemy whom he
hated, advanced upon his subordinate, making a swift, savage lunge
aimed at the other's abdomen. In a twinkling the thrust had been
parried by Lieutenant Morris, who, at close quarters, aimed a
vicious jab at his captain's wind-pipe. That, too, was blocked.
Warming up, the two officers fought without victory for a full