"It may be as good as an army gun can be made on contract, cheaply and in great quantities. But I doubt even that. As a fine shooting-piece it is not to be mentioned alongside of the high-grade sporting rifles you can buy. If you wanted to go into a rifle match, or if you went after lions or elephants or grizzly bears you wouldn't pick out this; you'd get a gun with a reputation and that you could rely on perfectly. With a gun of that sort a nearly perfect score on a six-inch bull's-eye wouldn't be out of the way."
"But these guns are all inspected, I am told," argued the general.
"You can only inspect the shooting qualities of a gun by trying it carefully; the bore might look all right, but yet the grooves may keyhole a bullet or cut one side out of it and make it shoot almost around a corner."
"You keep your gun clean, of course? A dirty gun may give bad results."
"Perfectly clean! A dirty gun will never shoot straight."
The general turned to Roy Flynn.
"And you can do this sort of hitting, too? Let's see you."
And Roy did it, not exactly punching a big hole in the center of his bull's-eye with a few only a little nearer the edge, as Herbert had done, but all his shots were safely in the black. Again the letter "P" went up and genuine admiration was expressed by the little coterie of onlookers. Roy, answering direct praise from Colonel Walling, indicated his chum.
"Owe it to him, sir. He taught me to shoot. Couldn't hit a flock of church steeples comin' at me before he showed me. I used to have a sort of bright idea that the harder you pulled the trigger the harder she shot, until he told me and which end to put to me shoulder. But I agree with him about these fowlin' pieces; they weren't rightly made for shootin' at all, but I think for beatin' carpet. You ought to just see me own gun and Whitcomb's."