"Yes; going to see her?"
"I might if I went in good company."
"Clever, ain't yuh? But who can explain pea-shooters better than your Uncle Dudley?"
"Yes, your knowledge extends possibly to pea-shooters, but this thing is a man's gun."
"Well, how in hell can you understand it? Nobody ever mistook you for a man, you poor little runt," the last with such a look of compassion that I had to laugh.
"All right, come on."
Quarreling all the way we arrived at the gun emplacement. The gun supports rested on a solid concrete base, while the muzzle tilted at an angle of about forty-five degrees. The system of hoisting the enormous shells I could not fathom, but a mass of wheels and other machinery seemed to do the business as if by magic. The gun had been hauled by a powerful tractor to its present position. Brawny six-foot marines of the Royal Marine Artillery sweated as they hauled and levered to get everything in shape to make their pet comfortable while she passed the time of day with the Boches.
It was all that four of these husky marines could do to roll the enormous shells by the aid of crowbars.