all right, Reeks; but it looks uncommonly like Leeks on your paper here; and I thought you were a Welshman,” said the doctor, smiling at his queer Hampshire pronunciation; for some of the chaps down our way speak just as badly as the cockneys in the east end of London, especially those coming from the country part beyond Cosham and Fareham. “Now, strip off your clothes to the waist, Reeks, and you, Trimmens, just take his chest measurement, please. You need not take off your trousers, boy!”

He added this caution in the nick of time, for ‘Ugly’ appeared about to peel off everything, to his naked pelt!

The sick-berth steward then proceeded to put a tape-measure round his body, just under the armpits, compassing his chest.

“He’s just the regulation, sir,” he said, after inspecting the measure. “Thirty-one inches, sir, exactly.”

The doctor looked at Reeks’s papers again.

“Ah, yes, all right, his age is under sixteen, I see,” said he. “Just test his height, Trimmens.”

The sick-bay steward took Reeks to the bulkhead opposite, where was a standard for measurement, the same as they keep in barrack-rooms.

“He’s five feet two, sir,” he called out—“to a h’inch, sir.”

“All right, that’ll do,” said the doctor. “I don’t think Mr Reeks will grow much more, though; he’s too thickset. Get me my stethoscope, Trimmens, and I’ll sound his lungs and heart.”

The doctor’s examination appeared satisfactory, for he made a note on ‘Ugly’s’ papers; and he was then made to hop across the cabin on each foot alternately and swing from a hook suspended to the deck above with either hand; after which his sight was tested, to see whether he could distinguish colours at a distance, besides being made pick out variously formed letters placed six feet or so away from him. The ordeal was completed with an inquiry as to the state of his bowels!

“You’ll do all right,” said the doctor, signing his papers to show he had complied with the requirements of the service. “Next boy!”

This, of course, was Mick Donovan, who gave out his name clearly enough; but, on the order being given him to strip, he seemed somewhat abashed, as if reluctant to comply with this request.

The doctor, very kindly, I thought, seemed to anticipate the poor lad’s reason for hesitating.

“Never mind, my boy, if your shore toggery is a bit seedy,” he said. “You’ll soon be blooming out in a bran-new sailor’s rig, and be as good as anybody!”

At this, Mick slipped off his ragged jacket at once, dragging an even more tattered shirt over his head. But I noticed though, and so did the doctor too, who had pretty sharp eyes of his own in spite of his somewhat indolent demeanour, that, if poor Mick’s garment was ragged, as indeed it was—aye, and ‘holy’ enough to have served his patriot saint, Saint Patrick, for a vestment—the shirt, or rather the remnant of the article, was scrupulously clean. The Irish boy’s skin also appeared much more accustomed to soap and water than that of the ugly Reeks, who, I saw, regarded my new friend with contempt, though he seemed to me a very dirty fellow, if outwardly better dressed.

However, in spite of his dilapidated raiment, Mick passed all the medical tests; though he had a narrow squeak in regard to the dimensions of his chest, failing in the proper measurement for his age by just an eighth of an inch.

“Faith, sor, I’ll fill out soon enough whin I git outside ov a good male or two,” pleaded the defaulter, on the sick-berth steward noting the deficiency. “An’ sure, yer anner, if Oi arn’t broad enough in the chist, I make up for it by being taller for me age—Bedad, Oi’m that, sor!”

The doctor seemed tickled by this unanswerable piece of logic.

“We’ll see about that, Paddy,” he said. “Trimmens, measure his height!”

“Five feet five, sir,” ejaculated the steward, after adjusting the sliding roll of the standard and reading the index. “That’s three h’inches over the h’average, sir, for his age, I think, sir.”

“Very good, that’ll do; I’ll pass you, Donovan,” said the doctor, wheeling round his chair and facing Mick. “But, mind, you’ll have to fill out, my boy.”

“Faith, I will that same, sor; and thank you kindly, sor, for your goodness to a poor misfortenate gossoon:” replied the other, all full of gratitude. “Your honour won’t know me, bedad, in a wake’s toime if I ownly git enough praties an’ mate!”

The doctor laughed outright at this; whereat, the somewhat demure sick-berth steward smiled grimly, allowing himself this slight indulgence amid the stormy austerities of duty, the only departure from the gravity he had all along displayed.

As for me, I was on the broad grin the whole period of my examination.

This lasted from the time I unbuttoned my braces till I threw them over my shoulders again, my grin expanding as I passed each test with flying colours, and broadening all over my face to express my inward joy. For, thank God, I proved to be not only ‘sound in mind and limb,’ but taller and broader-chested than most lads of my age. While as for my sight—

“By Jove, Trimmens,” observed the doctor, “I think he could pretty nearly see through that bulkhead and the Bill of Portland beyond! He has eyes like gimlets!”

“Yes, sir!”

With that, the sick-berth steward, hailing the ship’s corporal, who had been waiting all the while at the entrance to the doctor’s sanctum, handed him our papers; and the three of us were then escorted to the paymaster’s office, aft there, to undergo our last ordeal.

Here, each of us had to sign a document, binding us to serve Her Majesty for a period of twelve years after we should have attained the age of eighteen.

A number was thereupon given to Reeks and Donovan, as well as myself, and these numbers entered in the ship’s books against all three of our names; the one apportioned to me being 2799, which I looked upon as a happy omen, there being always luck in the odd figures.

Then, finally, one of the clerks noted down in turn the respective colours of our hair and eyes, asking also if we had any special markings on any part of our several persons; so that the authorities would be able to identify us should we ‘cut and run’ at any time, and try to leave the service before we worked out our allotted spell of twelve years as bluejackets “under the flag.”

“Now, lads,” said the corporal, as we emerged from the ship’s office, as the paymaster’s domain is styled, after going through all these formalities, “you’re entered on the ship’s books and you’ve signed the watch bill, and can call yourselves Saint Vincent boys at last!”

“Be the powers, sor,” exclaimed Mick Donovan, at once executing a caper which had some remote resemblance to an Irish jig, “it’s deloighted Oi am at that same! Oi fale so glad, alannah, Oi could dance for joy, loike the piper that played before Moses!”

“What d’you mean?” retorted Reeks, thinking he was taking liberties with his name. “We don’t have no Irish pipers or pigs in this country!”

“Faith an’ sure,” retorted Mike, “that’s bekase ye don’t want ’em, avic. Ye’ve got so many pigs, me darlint, amongst ye, bedad, ov yer own, sure, an’ not fur off, nayther, I’m a-thinkin’!”

Before ‘Ugly’ could make any reply to this sharp home-thrust, a bugle rang out loudly throughout the ship fore and aft, putting a stop to the interesting conversation.

“Look sharp, lads!” cried the corporal, hurrying us on to where we had left the master-at-arms. “There’s ‘cooks to their messes,’ and you’re just in time for dinner.”

“Dinner, faith!” ejaculated Mick Donovan. “Oi’m the boy for