"Report when ready!" continues the major.
"Report when ready!" echoes the orderly. Then—"Number one gun ready, sir!"
"Fire!"
"Fire!" Then, politely—"Number one has fired, sir."
The major stiffens to his periscope, and Bobby Little, deeply interested, wonders what has become of the report of the gun. He forgets that sound does not travel much faster than a thousand feet a second, and that the guns are a mile and a half back. Presently, however, there is a distant boom. Almost simultaneously the lyddite shell passes overhead with a scream. Bobby, having no periscope, cannot see the actual result of the shot, though he tempts Providence (and Zacchaeus) by peering over the top of the parapet.
"Number one, two-nothing minutes more right," commands the major.
"Same range and charge."
Once more the orderly goes through his ritual, and presently another shell screams overhead.
Again the major observes the result.
"Repeat!" he says. "Nothing-five seconds more right."
This time he is satisfied.