"Yes, sir," said he, busy pliers never still, "guns and rifles is very like us--you and me, say. Some is just naturally good and some is worse than bad--load up, George! A new rifle's like a kid--pretty sure to fire a bit wide at first--not being used to it--we was all kids once, sir, remember! But a bit of correction here an' there'll put that right as a rule. On 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 had better go, and unwillingly I follow him out into the open and the sounds of battle die away behind us. And now, as we walked, I learned some particulars of that terrible device the Lewis gun; how that it could spout bullets at the rate of 600 per minute; how, by varying pressures of the trigger, it could be fired by single rounds or pour forth its entire magazine in a continuous, shattering volley and how it weighed no more than twenty-six pounds. "And here," said the Captain, opening a door and speaking in his pleasant voice, much as though he were showing me some rare flowers, "here is where they grow by the hundred, every week."