June 14th. I have been hard put to-day.  The Lord only knows what trials and tribulations will be visited upon me next.  At present I am quite unnerved.  To-day I was initiated into all the horrifying secrets and possibilities of the bayonet, European style.  Never do I remember spending a more unpleasant half an hour.  The instructor was a resourceful man possessed of a most vivid imagination.  Before he had finished with us potential delicatessen dealers were lying around as thick as flies.  We were brushing them off.

After several hair-raising exhibitions he formed us into two lines facing each other and told us to begin.

“Now lunge,” he said, “and look as if you meant business.”

I glanced ingratiatingly across at my adversary.  He was simply glaring at me.  Never have I seen an expression of greater ferocity.  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.  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.”