I abandoned my gun and
stood sideways, thus decreasing the possible area of danger. Had the
exercises continued much longer I would have had a spell of something,
probably the blind staggers.
[Illustration: "I STOOD SIDE-WAYS, THUS DECREASING THE POSSIBLE AREA
OF DANGER"]
"You're not pole vaulting," said the instructor to me, as he returned
the gun. "In a real show you'd have looked like a pin cushion by this
time." I felt like one.
Then it all started over again and this time I thought I was doing a
little better, when quite unexpectedly the instructor shouted at me.
"Stop prancing around in that silly manner," he cried, "you're not
doing a sword dance, sonny."
"He thinks he's still a show girl," some one chuckled, "he's that
seductive."
Mess gear interrupted our happy morning. The sight of a knife fairly
sickened me.
_June 24th._ Last week I caught a liberty--a perfect Forty-three--and
went to spend it with some cliff dwelling friends of mine who, heaven
help their wretched lot! lived on the sixth and top floor of one of
those famous New York struggle-ups. Before shoving off there was some
slight misunderstanding between the inspecting officer and myself
relative to the exact color of my, broadly speaking, Whites.
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