his obligations regularly
enough--until the year before last, by which time his leg really
disabled him. It had fortuned, however, that one afternoon on the
Quay, loafing around less on the chance of a job (for odd jobs are
scarce at Polpier) than to wile away time, he had encountered Dr
Mant, the easy-going practitioner from St Martin's. Dr Mant
fancying an excursion after the mackerel, at that time swarming close
inshore, Nicky-Nan had rowed him out and back along the coast to St
Martin's. The bargain struck for half-a-crown, the doctor sent his
trap back by road.

Some way out at sea he inquired, "Hullo! what's wrong with that right
knee of yours?"

"Ricked it," answered Nicky-Nan mendaciously, and added, "I was
thinkin' to consult you, sir. I be due for trainin' with the Reserve
in a fortni't's time."

"Want a certificate? Here, let me have a feel what's wrong."
The Doctor interrupted his whiffing for a moment to reach forward and
feel Nicky's knee professionally, outside the thick sea-cloth
trousers. "Hurts, does it? You've a nasty swelling there, my man."

"It hurts a bit, sir, and no mistake. If I could only have a
certificate now--"

"All right; I'll give you one," said the Doctor, and turned his
attention again to the mackerel.

Before stepping ashore at St Martin's, he pulled out a fountain-pen
and scribbled the certificate on a leaf torn from his note-book.
Having with this and one shilling compounded for his trip, he said as
he traced up his catch--

"There, stick that in an envelope and post it. You're clearly not
fit for service afloat till that swelling goes down."

Nicky-Nan duly posted the certificate, which Dr Mant had
characteristically forgotten to date. After a week it came back with
an official note drawing Nicky's attention to this, and requesting
that the date should be inserted.

"Red tape," said Nicky. He borrowed a pen from Mrs Penhaligon, and
wrote the date quite accurately at the foot of the document.

Then, for some reason or other, his conscience smote him. He put off
posting the letter; and at this point again fortune helped him.
Word came to him by a chance wind that the staff of the Coastguard
had been shifted, over at Troy. Also (though he never discovered
this) the Chief Officer of Customs, after returning the certificate,
had left for his summer holiday.

So Nicky-Nan kept it in his pocket; and nothing happened.

The next year--so easy is the slope of Ave