"it
ain't everybody as I asks t' join our corps. . . . Adjutant, 'e ses t'
me this mornin', 'Looka here, Bates,' 'e ses, 'don't you go for to bring
none o' them scallywags 'ere! We don't want 'em! We won't 'ave 'em at
any price,' 'e ses! . . . 'Wot we wants is proper men--men with chests,'
'e ses!"

I felt somewhat commended; I trimmed more upright in carriage; he was
certainly a clever recruiter. I told him I had rather important work to
do. He said, with emphasis, that it must be more than important to keep
a MAN out of the Army--these days! In sound of shrieking
newsboys--"_Ant--werp fallen! British falling back!_"--I agreed.

I asked him what he did with the men recruited. He was somewhat
surprised at my question, but told me that, when trained, they were sent
across to the Front--he was hoping to _return_ himself in the next
draft. He thought all this talk was needless, and grew impatient. I
mentioned that the men couldn't very well swim over there. He glared
scornfully. "Swim? . . . Swim! . . . 'Ere! Wot th' hell ye gettin' at?
You gotta hellova lot t' say about it, anyway!"

I explained that my business was that of putting the troops and the guns
and the gear o' war across; that the drafts couldn't get very far on the
way without our assistance. He glanced at my soft felt hat, at my
rainproof coat, my umbrella, my handbag--said, "_Huh_" and went off in
search of a more promising recruit. His broad back, as he strode off
swinging his cane, expressed an entire disapproval of my appearance and
my alleged business.

Good honest sergeant! His course was a clear and straight one. He would
hold no more truck with one who wouldn't take up a man's job. His "Huh"
and the swing of his arm said plainly to me, "Takin' th' boys across,
eh? A ---- fine excuse, . . . a rare ---- trick! Where's yer uniform? Why
ain't ye in uniform, eh? You can't do me with that story, mister! I'm an
old Service man, I am. I been out t' India. I been on a troopship. I
seen all them gold-lace blokes a-pokin' their noses about an' growsin'
at th' way th' decks wos kep! _Huh!_ A damn slacker, mister! That's wot
I think o' you!"

* * * * *

The sergeant's attitude was not unreasonable. Where was our uniform?
Where was any evidence of our calling by which one could recognize a
seaman on shore? A sea-gait, perhaps! But the deep-sea roll has gone out
since bilge-keels came to steady our vessels! Tattoo marks? These