three-quarters of a minute. Then, at a word from Prescott, each
drew back.

"Every one of you men, by the time you reach France, should be
able to fight faster and better than that," Dick announced.

Down the line an infectious smile ran. It seemed to these soldiers
impossible that a more skillful or a swifter bit of combat work
could be put up than they had just witnessed.

"You two men, at the right, bring your rifles here," Prescott
ordered, and the bayoneted rifles were brought and handed to the
two officers.

"Now, Lieutenant Morris, the first four series, as fast as we
can go through them," Dick commanded.

Bang! bump! flash! Rifle barrels rang as they crossed; butts
bumped hard against barrel or stock, and glittering steel flashed
in the sunlight as the two infantry officers advanced and retreated
in a savage, realistic contest. It really seemed as though Lieutenant
Morris and Captain Prescott were bent on annihilating each other.
Could this fierce, mutual onslaught be pretense---play? Then,
as the last move of the fourth series was executed the two infantry
officers jumped back a step each and dipped the points of their
gleaming blades by way of courtesy. The other three platoons
of the company had stopped drill to watch. How the thrilled men
of A company wished to applaud and cheer!

"Lieutenant Morris and I are very poor hands at bayonet work,