How straight is a gun-barrel? In the factory where guns are made the metal is rolled and prest and ground and polished until the most practised eye can not detect the slightest curve in it anywhere. Not until it is so can it be permitted to go out of the factory. Over and over again it must be tested and tried until it is as perfect as men and machines can make it. If the gun-barrel were not straight, no one ever could hit what he aimed at; the bullet could not help flying wide of the mark.
And hitting the mark is the thing. “Straight” is a homely word, but it is full of the deepest meaning. No one can ever reach his aim, be it ever so high, unless he always does the true, manly thing. One little mean, underhanded act, and his life may be marred forever. The world wants men who are straight. (Text.)—Edgar L. Vincent, The Visitor.
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STRAIN, NERVOUS
Jack Tattersall, the wireless man of the steamship Baltic, which went to the aid of the Republic on January 23, 1909, is said to have sat at his key for 52 hours. In relating his experience he said:
It wasn’t the actual work that bothered me, you know. That’s not so difficult.
No; it’s the awful nervous strain of striving, always striving, to get the message right, when half a dozen gigantic batteries are jerking flashes to you at the same time, drowning each other out, pounding in your ears, making the night seem to swarm with sparks before your eyes. That’s what gets on a man’s nerves; that’s what makes you next to insane. I hardly knew what to do, with the Republic signaling me, faintly, so faintly that I could not make out whether they were saying, “We are sinking,” or “All safe.” (Text.)
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STRATAGEM BY BIRDS
A gentleman had a fine setter-dog who was accustomed to take his daily bone, with due allowance of meat adhering, to the lawn to enjoy at his leisure. On one occasion he observed several magpies planning to get a share of the dainty. They quietly approached the dog and placed themselves one at the head, about two feet from the animal, who was too busy to notice them, a second near the tail, and one or two by his side. When all were placed, the bird near the dog’s tail gave a sudden nip to that member. The dog, of course, wheeled to catch the offender, who fled, while his hungry comrades rushed to the bone, hastily snatching what they could. The fleeing magpie led the outraged dog to some distance, drawing him on by fluttering as if injured, without really taking flight.—Olive Thorne Miller, “The Bird Our Brother.”