The practice began, and for a time one would have thought a real battle was in progress, so rapid were the explosions of the grenades. A short distance down the trench, in which the Cresville friends were, stood Pug Kennedy. They had seen little of him during the last few days, as, owing to an infraction of the rules, he had spent some time in the guardhouse. But now he was out.
“This way of throwing these lemons makes me tired!” exclaimed Pug. “Why can’t I throw one like a baseball? I can make a better hit that way, and I’m going to.”
Before any of his comrades could tell him not to disobey orders this way, Pug suddenly threw a bomb. In making the underhand toss, his elbow struck the edge of the trench, the grenade left his hand and fell a few feet away, directly in front of a line of soldiers crouched in the depression.
“Now look what you did!” yelled the corporal in charge of Pug’s squad. “That’ll go off in a second or two!”
“Heads down, every one!” cried a lieutenant who had seen what had happened.
The bomb, with the fuse set to explode it in a short time, lay on the ground just outside the trench that was filled with young soldiers. Pug’s recklessness had endangered all their lives.