Let them 'ear it. So!" And he gave a
stentorian shout. It was a meritorious and surprising performance, for
he was fat and scant of breath. The sedentary duties of hall-porter at
the ---- Club, after twenty-one years' service in the Army, had produced
a fatty degeneration which no studious arrangement of an Army belt could
altogether conceal.

"Battery!" began the cadet, as he threw his head back and took a deep
breath. "Advance in single file from the right. The rest mark time."

"Rest!" said the sergeant reproachfully. "There ain't no rest in the
British Army. Rear, say, 'Rear,' sir."

"Rear, mark time!" said the cadet uncomfortably.

"Now," said the sergeant, as he wiped his brows, "double them back,
sir."

"Battery, run!" said the cadet brightly.

"As y' were! How could yer, Mr. ----?" said the sergeant grievously.
"The British Army never runs, sir! They doubles." The cadet blushed at
the aspersion upon the reputation of the British Army into which he had
been betrayed.

"Double--march!"

They doubled.

The sergeant now turned his attention to a party at gun drill. It was a
sub-section, which means a gun, a waggon, and ten men. The detachment
was formed up behind the gun in two rows, odd numbers in front, even
numbers behind.

"Section tell off!"

"One," from the front row. "Two," from the back. "Three," from the
front. The tale was duly told in voices which ran up and down the scale,
tenor alternating with baritone.

"Without drag-ropes--prepare to advance!" shouted the sergeant. The odd
numbers shifted to the right of the gun, the evens to the left, but
numbers "4" and "6," being apparently under the impression that it was a
game of "musical chairs," found themselves on the right instead of the
left.

"Too many odds," shouted the sergeant. "The British Army be used to
'eavy hodds, but not that sort. Nos. 4 and 6 get over to the near side."

"Halt! Action front!" They unlimbered, and swung the gun round to point
in the direction of an imaginary enemy.

The detachment were now grouped round the gun, and I drew near to have a
look at it. No neater adaptation of means to end could be devised than
your eighteen-pounder. She is as docile as a child, and her "bubble" is
as sensitive to a touch as mercury in a barometer.

"No. 1 add one hundred. Two-nought minutes more left!" shouted the
sergeant, who, with the versatility of a variety artiste, was now
playing another part from his extensive repertoi