PRIVATE R. VAN WINKLE opened his eyes, and, taking up his rusty rifle,
marched towards the new ranges.
"Dear me!" said he, gazing with amazement at his surroundings, "this
is not at all like what I saw when I went to sleep."
"No, RIP, it is not," replied _Mr. Punch_, who happened to be in the
neighbourhood. He had been watching his sweetest Princess making a
bull's-eye at the opening ceremony.
"Why, it is twice as large as Wimbledon," continued the astounded
warrior.
"You are well within the limit," the Sage assented, "and see, there
is plenty of space. No fear of damaging any of the tenants of GEORGE
RANGER in _this_ part of the country."
"No, indeed!" exclaimed Private VAN WINKLE. "Not that I think His
Royal Highness had much cause of complaint. The truth is--"
"Let bygones be bygones," interrupted _Mr. Punch_. "GEORGE RANGER is
no longer your landlord, except, in a certain sense, representing the
interests of the Regular Army, and I shall keep _my_ eye upon him in
that capacity."
"An entirely satisfactory arrangement. But where are the fancy tents,
and the luncheon parties, and all the etceteras that used to be so
pleasant at Wimbledon?"
"Disappeared," returned _Mr. Punch_, firmly. "Bisley is to be more
like Shoeburyness (where the Artillery set an excellent example to
the Infantry) than the Surrey saturnalia."
"And is it to be _all_ work and no play?"
"That will be the general idea. Of course, in the evening, when
nothing better can be done, there will be harmonic meetings round the
camp-fires. But while light lasts, the crack of the rifle and the
ping of the bullet will be heard in all directions, _vice_ the pop
of champagne corks superseded. And if you don't like the prospect,
my dear RIP, you had better go to sleep again."
But Private VAN WINKLE remained awake--to his best interests!
* * * * *