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The First Hundred Thousand by Ian Hay
page 63 of 303 (20%)
dozen rifles stand, set in rests. Waddell has given the order: _Four
hundred_--_at the road, where it passes under the viaduct_--_fire!_
and six privates have laid the six rifles upon the point indicated.
Waddell and Captain Wagstaffe walk down the line, peering along the
sights of the rifles. Five are correctly aligned: the sixth points to
the spacious firmament above the viaduct.

"Hallo!" observes Wagstaffe.

"This is the man's third try, sir," explains the harassed Waddell. "He
doesn't seem to be able to distinguish anything at all."

"Eyesight wrong?"

"So he says, sir."

"Been a long time finding out, hasn't he?"

"The sergeant told me, sir," confides Waddell, "that in his opinion
the man is 'working for his ticket.'"

"Umph!"

"I did not quite understand the expression, sir," continues the honest
youth, "so I thought I would consult you."

"It means that he is trying to get his discharge. Bring him along:
I'll soon find out whether he is skrim-shanking or not."

Private M'Sweir is introduced, and led off to the lair of that
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