TWENTY STRAIGHT
Sergeant (disgustedly, to Private Jones, who is not exactly an expert at shooting)—“Ugh! don’t waste your last bullet. Nineteen are quite enough to blaze away without hitting the target once. Go behind that wall and blow your brains out.”
Jones walked quietly away, and a few seconds later a shot rang out.
“Great sausages, the fool’s done what I told him!” howled the sergeant, running behind the wall. Great was his relief when he saw Private Jones coming towards him.
“Sorry, sergeant,” he said, apologetically; “another miss.”