"Yes, my lad. What do you want with me?"
"To volunteer," said I.
"For the Twenty-first Foot?"
"Yes."
"All right, boy. What age are you?"
"Seventeen years."
"We don't reckon our time in the army by years, but by the enjoyments we have," replied Drumbirrel, who was quite master of the noble art of trepanning. "In his Majesty's name," he added, slipping the mystical coin into my hand; "and now, come into the bar for our morning glass, and to pass you under the standard."
And thus it was that I became a Royal Fusilier!