"Oh, you're the little chap who was so awfully stumped in spelling at dictation eh, old fellow?" I retorted, making the marine sentry grin as the ship's corporal on duty hailed my waterman to pull forward under the main yard for my chest to be hoisted inboard. "How did you manage to scramble through, eh?" "Only by the skin of my teeth," he answered, smiling all over his face in such a good-humoured way that I could not help taking a liking to him. "Just the same as you did, I suppose, Mr Sharp!" "That isn't my name," said I, laughing, "but we won't quarrel about that. Let us make friends instead." "Agreed," said he, laughing too. "I liked the cut of your jib when I first saw you in that awful place the other day. I was so sorry I couldn't help you with your Euclid." "Really? Well, I was sorry I couldn't help you with your spelling, you looked so woe-begone over the big words," I replied, giving him another dig for his unkind reminiscence of my old nightmare. "I think it was `Mesopotamia' that finally finished you, wasn't it?" "Pax!" cried he, beseechingly. "You're a bit too sharp for me, I see, to try chaffing with. Let us be chums, as you suggest, old boy. My name is Tom Mills." "All right, old chap," I rejoined, gripping the hand he stretched out to me as cordially as he had offered this gage of friendship. "I am Jack Vernon. That's my name!" "Well, Jack," said he, addressing me as familiarly as if we had known each other for years. "You seem a jolly sort of fellow, and I think I shall like you." "Ditto, Master Tom," said I, much amused at his hearty frankness of speech, for I had never come across such a free and easy fellow before. "You're another--that's all I can say, old chap!" This set us off both laughing again; and, in the midst of our glee, up came a tall man in a long frock-coat with a black sword-belt, but no epaulets or other distinguishing ornaments, whom I afterwards learnt was the master-at-arms. He asked me my name; and, informing me that I was to report myself to the commanding officer, he led the way up the main hatch to the quarter-deck above. This interview having been satisfactorily got through, I was then escorted to the quarters of the naval instructor, who received me most graciously, telling me the hours of study and drill, and coaching me generally in the routine of my duties. He catechised me all the while, I noticed, in a sly way in respect of my knowledge of mathematics, putting a series of innocent questions that I saw were meant to test my acquirements. He did this, however, in such an insidious manner as to disarm me at the outset, preventing my feeling that I was being examined and "turned inside out," so to speak. He was a nice fat old fellow like Mr Tangent. Indeed, the majority of naval chaplains I have come across in my time in the service have as a rule been fat, the sea air apparently exercising as beneficial an effect on the clerical constitution as a snug living ashore.