Robert took the shoulder-piece, finger on trigger, keeping his gun aimed at some boat moving in the Severn River. He was, according to the prescribed gun drill, "First Pointer."
Peters was the "sight setter." He ran up the rear sight according to the distance away of the object aimed at, and also he would move the rear sight to the right or left, according to the speed the boat was moving.
Glassfell was loader, and as such acting gun captain. Robert picked out two other classmates, Taylor and Warren, to act as shell-men.
"All ready now, fellows," cried Glassfell, late one beautiful April day; "let's have one more drill to-night and then we'll knock off. We'll start with the gun empty and breech closed. Lenn, you throw down the breech as usual after each make-believe shot—you won't have to when we really fire the gun because the gun is semi-automatic and the discharge of one shot opens the breech, ready to load the next one."
"I learned that years ago, Mr. Glassfell. But I'll open the breech for you. We're all ready, sir."
"Load," rang out Glassfell's voice. Down went the breech, and instantly Glassfell threw in a dummy cartridge, and up slammed the breech, closing the gun with a click.
Robert snapped the trigger, and instantly Lenn threw down the breech; the dummy was ejected and Glassfell threw in another cartridge. This was repeated again and again, until Lenn called out "time."
"That was well done, sir; you loaded and fired twenty-nine times in a minute; I kept time; there wasn't a hitch. You have a well-trained crew, Mr. Drake."
On the way back, Robert met Helen Blunt walking with her brother. There was no question but that Helen expected Robert to stop and speak with her. She slackened her pace a bit, bowing to Robert with a sort of mute reproach in her manner; Robert hesitated a moment, then turned and joined her, while Harry Blunt walked on ahead, neither he nor Robert giving any greeting.
"What's the matter? Don't you and Harry speak?" asked Helen, in a surprised, hurt way.