"Letter for yer, sir, yezsir," said my friend the cock-eyed waiter a week or two later, while we were at luncheon, bringing in a long, official-looking document on a salver, which he proceeded to hand me with a smirk and a squint from his cock-eye, that seemed to roam all over the apartment, taking in everything and everyone present in one comprehensive glance. "It's jest come in, sir. It were brought by a messenger, sir, from the commander-in-chief's h'office, sir; and I thinks as 'ow it's a horder for yer sir, for to jine yer ship, sir, yezsir!" "All right my man, that'll do," interposed my father, who from his service-training had a rooted objection to anything approaching to familiarity from servants and other subordinates, besides which he particularly disliked the waiter's "vulgar curiosity" as he styled it, saying he was always prying and poking his nose into other people's affairs; although, I honestly believe my worthy old cock-eyed friend only took a laudable interest in my welfare, as indeed he did in the business of everybody who patronised the hotel. "You can leave the letter, waiter, and likewise the room!" "For me?" said I, taking up the missive, which was inscribed on the outside in large printed characters "On Her Majesty's Service," similarly to the one which had brought my nomination from the Admiralty. "I wonder Dad, what it contains! I suppose, it will tell whether I have passed my examination or not?" "Open it, Jack," said Dad, as soon as the waiter had left the room, flicking his napkin viciously over the sideboard which he passed on his way to the door as if he was considerably huffed at not being admitted to our confidence. "Let us hear the news at once, good or bad. Suspense, you know, my boy, is worse than hanging." "No, I can't, Dad, I feel too nervous," I replied, not laughing at his joke, as I might have done another time, although the pun was a regular old stager, passing the yet unopened letter across the table. "You read it, mother, please." "You need not be alarmed Jack," said she, smiling, and pointing to the superscription. "See, the direction on it is to `John Vernon, Esquire, R.N.'" "Which means, Master Jack, that you have passed!" cried Dad, anticipating her explanation, and jumping up at once from his seat in great excitement, the contagion of which the next instant spread to me. "You've passed, my boy, there's no doubt about that from this address; and, now, you really belong to Her Majesty's service, hurrah!" Mother, though, did not say anything, and her hands trembled as she fumbled with the letter, trying to open the envelope without tearing it.