When you see all this you can understand why the men of a 7-inch gun's crew, for example, who think they have what they call a look-in for the navy prize elect to sleep beside their pet gun all night, just as a stable boy sleeps in the stall of his great racer who is to be out the next day for the supreme contest of the year; you can understand why some of the officers refuse to shave themselves until target practice is all over and they begin to look as if they were training to be pirates, bad and bold; every naval hoodoo is avoided; you can see why the men go over every part of the mechanism of the guns oiling, rubbing, shining, testing parts until you wonder whether the gun itself is not in a state of agitation and the molecules, which the experts gravely assert are always in a state of motion, are not racing back and forth and saying contemptuous things to one another. Why some of these men never allow themselves out of sight of their gun lest something may happen to it. They pat the guns with their hands and whisper pet names to them, and tell them to do their best, and if they win why they'll put ribbons on them and point them out to every one. And, indeed, more than one gun--it would be telling to say which ones--did wear ribbon decorations and did receive embraces from a victorious crew after the shooting was over. Just before the shooting begins a calm, a stillness, comes over the ship. Men steady themselves with a supreme effort to keep cool, and the spirit of do or die takes possession of the ship, and as the guns go bang, bang and boom, boom you'd think these officers and men had done nothing else all their lives but shoot off projectiles and it was as much a matter of course with them as getting their breakfasts. All hands are now smiling and good cheer pervades every compartment, and it's "That's fine, Bill!" "Hit 'em again!" "Sock it to 'em!" "Soak 'er!" "You're doin' great!" "Never mind, that's only one miss!" "Bully boy!" And when the target is brought on board between the runs to be repaired for use again you can understand why the men crowd around it while the umpires examine the rents to see if they made any mistake in their decisions and you can also enter into the feelings of some young fellow who has done the shooting at it and has to repair it, as he looks at it and sees only three hits, for example, out of five shots, while he fairly moans: "I'll never get over this as long as I live. I thought I was on the target and don't see how I missed it." And you can also enter into the feelings of pride and exultation of another youngster as he mends his target with every shot a hit and done in the fastest time ever known, while his mates slap him on the back and say: "Great work, Bob! Great work!" And when he finishes his mending and catches the eye of the newspaper correspondent on board you know how he feels when he comes up and touches his hat and says: