It was too
much. I knew for certain that if he ever lunged at me I'd never live
to draw another yellow slip.
"Mister Officer," I gasped, pointing across at this blood-thirsty man,
"don't you think that he's just a little too close? I'm afraid I might
hurt him by accident."
The officer surveyed the situation with a swift, practical eye.
"Oh, I guess he can take care of himself all right," he replied. That
was just what I feared.
The man smiled grimly.
"But does he know that this is only practise?" I continued. "He
certainly doesn't look as if he did."
"That's the way you should look," said the officer, "work your own
face up a bit. This isn't a vampire scene. Don't look as if you were
going to lure him. Y'know you're supposed to be angry with your
opponent when you meet him in battle, quite put out in fact. And
furthermore you're supposed to look it."
I regarded my opponent, but only terror was written on my face. Then
suddenly we lunged and either through fear or mismanagement I
succeeded only in running my bayonet deep into the ground. In some
strange manner the butt of the gun jabbed me in the stomach and I was
completely winded. My opponent was dancing and darting around me like
a local but thorough-going lightning storm.
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