"It sure gives us a big advantage over the Germans," assented Frank. "Of course they're drilled in throwing, but by the time they've started in with it their muscles must seem strange to it. We've been throwing a ball around ever since we were kids. It's in the blood. Our eyes and arms have learned to work together. And then, too, a thing you've learned to do from the love of it must be better done than when it's forced on you." "Imagine a crack pitcher with a grenade in his hand and the Kaiser a hundred feet away," said Billy with a grin. "An A1 pitcher wouldn't do a thing to him!" chuckled one of the other recruits. "Would he put over a bean ball or a fadeaway, do you think?" asked Bart. "It would be a strike-out, whichever one he used," declared Frank. "The Kaiser would do a fadeaway." The bomb they used was the Mills bomb which had been adopted for general use in the British army. "Let's hope there'll be plenty of them, whatever else we're short of," remarked Bart. "They're handy little things to have around when the Boches come over for a friendly call," observed another lad. "If we run short we can make some ourselves," declared Frank. "They won't be quite so nifty as these Mills bombs, but they'll do the work." "Listen to Edison talking," chaffed Billy. "I'm not kidding," declared Frank. "I got the tip from one of the Tommys who was wounded in the Ypres fighting and is over here on leave. Hustle around some of you chaps and get me an old tin can and I'll show you what the Tommy showed to me." "What kind of a can?" asked Billy. "Oh, any old kind," answered Frank. "An old soup can, tomato can, any can that Eli hasn't eaten up already." Eli was the big goat that served as the mascot of the regiment. He had an omnivorous appetite and ate anything from cigarette butts to washrags, and if anything was missing it was customary to charge it against Eli. He was not only a billygoat but a scapegoat. A little search however brought to light an old can that Eli had spared, and the boys looked on with interest while Frank prepared his homemade bomb. "I'll roll up my sleeves, gentlemen, to show you that I have nothing concealed there," said Frank, in his best conjurer's style. "Now watch me carefully and I'll try to instill some scientific knowledge in those thick noddles of yours." He took a handful of clay from the edge of the trench where they had been practising and lined the inside of the can with it. "Now for the dirty work," joked Billy. Frank withered him with a glance. "Get me a lot of junk," he commanded. "That's rather indefinite," suggested Bart. "Junk shops are not a part of this regiment's equipment. Uncle Sam's had so much on his mind that he hasn't got to them yet." "A handful of nails or bits of iron or cartridge shells will do," returned Frank, putting a detonator and explosive in the can and tamping it down in the clay. "Anything will do that will make Fritz see stars when it hits him."