There is something in physical drill before breakfast that dissolves the fabric of dreams. This John had discovered long ago, turning out of a hammock in whose warm comfort all things had been possible, and becoming, in the twinkling of an eye, a bare-footed, sleepy midshipman, in dirty flannels; and this he realized afresh on that June morning when his meeting Margaret, his letter from Mr. Alter, and his lamp-lit talk with Hartington had become affairs of yesterday. He went into the Gunroom, drank cocoa, smoked as much of a cigarette as time allowed him, and went with the others on to the Upper Deck. Here all was hosepipes and holystone--gritty to the foot. Ordith, in new sea-boots, was walking up and down the quarter-deck sniffing the morning air. When the midshipmen began their drill, he watched them for a moment, and then turned away. “Stoop-fallin’--place!” commanded the Instructor. “Feet placin’ forwards and backwards. One--two! One--two! One--two!” The midshipmen, on all fours, moved their legs in and out lazily, reflecting that their anatomy was remarkably unlike that of a frog. In any case--and this, perhaps, was one of the more subtle reasons which inspired the authorities to order physical drill--it was impossible while so engaged to imagine one’s self addressing the House of Commons, or falling in love, or writing a book, or, indeed, doing anything but sprawl on the deck to the accompaniment of the Instructor’s unceasing “One--two! One--two!” At Osborne and Dartmouth, of course, where physical drill had been properly done, it had not been unattractive; moreover, they were healthier in those days. But now drink, tobacco, and lack of exercise had made drill an uncomfortable process. It was useless, too, for they “sloped” through it, and none cared so long as the young gentlemen obeyed regulations by being on the quarter-deck in flannels for a stated number of minutes every morning. The fact that they “sloped” was the young gentlemen’s fault; but not theirs alone.