“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.