"Don't," says I, passing inside to shake hands with several of my
friends behind the mahogany. Shake hands, alas, was all I did.


_March 26th._ I must speak about the examinations before I forget it.
What a clubby time we had of it. I got in a trifle wrong at the start
on account of my sociable nature. You know, I thought it was a sort of
a farewell reception given by the officers and the C.P.O.'s to the men
departing after their twenty-one days in Probation, so the first thing
I did when I went in was to shake hands with an Ensign, who I thought
was receiving. He got rid of my hand with the same briskness that one
removes a live coal from one's person. The whole proceeding struck me
as being a sort of charity bazaar. People were wandering around from
booth to booth, in a pleasant sociable manner, passing a word here and
sitting down there in the easiest-going way imaginable. Leaving the
Ensign rather abruptly, I attached myself to the throng and started in
search of ice cream and cake. This brought me up at a table where
there was a very pleasant looking C.P.O. holding sway, and with him I
thought I would hold a few words. What was my horror on hearing him
snap out in a very crusty manner:

"How often do you change your socks?"

This is a question I allow no man to ask me. It is particularly
objectionable. "Why, sir," I replied, "don't you think you are
slightly overstepping the bounds of good taste? One does not even jest
about such totally personal matters, ye know." Then rising, I was
about to walk away without even waiting for his reply, but he called
me back and handed me my paper, on which he had written "Impossible"