Dick, scowling as though facing an enemy whom he hated, advanced upon his subordinate, making a swift, savage lunge aimed at the other's abdomen.

In a twinkling the thrust had been parried by Lieutenant Morris, who, at close quarters, aimed a vicious jab at his captain's wind-pipe.

That, too, was blocked.
Warming up, the two officers fought without victory for a full three-quarters of a minute.

Then, at a word from Prescott, each drew back.
"Every one of you men, by the time you reach France, should be able to fight faster and better than that," Dick announced.
Down the line an infectious smile ran.

It seemed to these soldiers impossible that a more skillful or a swifter bit of combat work could be put up than they had just witnessed.
"You two men, at the right, bring your rifles here," Prescott ordered, and the bayoneted rifles were brought and handed to the two officers.
"Now, Lieutenant Morris, the first four series, as fast as we can go through them," Dick commanded.
Bang! bump! flash! Rifle barrels rang as they crossed; butts bumped hard against barrel or stock, and glittering steel flashed in the sunlight as the two infantry officers advanced and retreated in a savage, realistic contest.