The next booth I visited seemed to be a little more hospitable, so I sat down with the rest of the fellows and prepared to talk of the events of the past twenty-one days.

“How many Articles are there?” suddenly asked a C.P.O. who hitherto had escaped my attention.

“Twelve,” I replied promptly, thinking I might just as well play the game, too.

“What are they based on?” he almost hissed, but not quite.

“The Constitution of these United States,” I cried in a loud, public-spirited voice, at which the C.P.O. choked and turned dangerously red.  It seems that not only was I not quite right, but that I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“Go,” he gasped, “before I do you some injury.”  A very peculiar man, I thought, but, nevertheless, his heart seemed so set on my going that I thought it would be best for us to part.

“I am sure I do not wish to force myself upon you,” I said icily as I left.  The poor man appeared to be on the verge of having a fit.

“Do you want to tie some knots?” asked a kind-voiced P.O. at the next booth.

“Crazy about it,” says I, easy like.

“Then tie some,” says he.  So I tied a very pretty little knot I had learned at the kindergarten some years ago and showed it to him.

“What’s that?” says he.

“That,” replies I coyly.  “Why, that is simply a True Lover’s knot.  Do you like it?”

“Orderly,” he screamed.  “Orderly, remove this.”  And hands were laid upon me and I was hurled into the arms of a small, but ever so sea-going appearing chap, who was engaged in balancing his hat on the bridge of his nose and wig-wagging at the same time.  After beating me over the head several times with the flags, he said I could play with him, and he began to send me messages with lightning-like rapidity.  “What is it?” he asked.

“Really,” I replied, “I lost interest in your message before you finished.”

After this my paper looked like a million dollars with the one knocked off.

“What’s a hackamatack?” asked the next guy.  Thinking he was either kidding me or given to using baby talk, I replied: 

“Why, it’s a mixture between a thingamabob and a nibleck.”

His treatment of me after this answer so unnerved me that I dropped my gun at the next booth and became completely demoralized.  The greatest disappointment awaited me at “Monkey Drill,” or setting up exercises, however.  I thought I was going to kill this.  I felt sure I was going to outstrip all competitors.  But in the middle of it all the examiner yelled out in one of those sarcastic voices that all rookies learn to fear:  “Are you trying to flirt with me or do you think you’re a bloomin’ angel?”

This so sickened me at heart that I left the place without further ado, whatever that might be.  Pink teas in the Navy are not unmixed virtues.

March 27th. My birthday, and, oh, how I do miss my cake.  It’s the first birthday I ever had without a cake except two and then I had a bottle.  Oh, how well I remember my last party (birthday party)!