"Say, Hickey, speaking of hash marks, have you got any on you yet?"
"I'm just telling you I have one here. I'm a gun pointer. If you don't believe it, come over to the turret and I'll point one at you. It'll make you jump when the pop-gun goes off, I'll bet."
"No, no; I don't mean that kind of a hash mark," laughed his companion.
"What kind, then?"
"Tattoo marks. We call them hash marks."
"I get tattooed—is that what you mean?"
"Of course; every sailor—every real sailor—has that done."
"What for?"
"Just to be the real thing; that's all."
"I don't know. I hadn't thought of it."