long arm of the Miehle press was already waiting for you; that thousands
of good people reading a certain novel would be familiar with your
"round rosy face and clear sea-blue eyes."

"Tommy" (whose real name is Drevis) was born in Amsterdam in 1896. His
father was a fireman at sea, and contributed next to nothing to the
support of Tommy and his pretty little sister Greta. They lived with
their grandmother, near the quays in Amsterdam, where the masts of ships
and the smell of tar interfered with their lessons. Bread and treacle
for breakfast, black beans for lunch, a fine thick stew and plenty more
bread for supper--that and the Dutch school where he stood near the top
of his class are what Tommy remembers best of his boyhood. His
grandmother took in washing, and had a hard time keeping the little
family going. She was a fine, brusque old lady and as Tommy went off to
school in the mornings she used to frown at him from the upstairs window
because his hands were in his pockets. For as everybody knows, only
slouchy good-for-nothings walk to school with pocketed hands.

Tommy did so well in his lessons that he was one of the star pupils
given the privilege of learning an extra language in the evenings. He
chose English because most of the sailors he met talked English, and his
great ambition was to be a seaman. His uncle was a quartermaster in the
Dutch navy, and his father was at sea; and Tommy's chance soon came.

After school hours he used to sell postcards, cologne, soap, chocolates,
and other knicknacks to the sailors, to earn a little cash to help his
grandmother. One afternoon in the spring of 1909 he was down on the
docks with his little packet of wares, when a school friend came running
to him.