disappointment awaited me at "Monkey Drill," or setting up exercises,
however. I thought I was going to kill this. I felt sure I was going
to outstrip all competitors. But in the middle of it all the examiner
yelled out in one of those sarcastic voices that all rookies learn to
fear: "Are you trying to flirt with me or do you think you're a
bloomin' angel?"

This so sickened me at heart that I left the place without further
ado, whatever that might be. Pink teas in the Navy are not unmixed
virtues.


_March 27th._ My birthday, and, oh, how I do miss my cake. It's the
first birthday I ever had without a cake except two and then I had a
bottle. Oh, how well I remember my last party (birthday party)!

There was father and the cake all lit up in the center of the table; I
mean the cake, not father, of course. And there was Gladys (I always
called her "Glad"). She'd been coming to my birthday parties for years
and years. She always came first and left last and ate the most and
got the sickest of all the girls I knew. It was appalling how that
girl could eat.

But, as I was saying, there was father and the cake, and there was
mother and "Glad" and all the little candles were twinkling, lighting
up my presents clustered around, among them being half a dozen maroon
silk socks, a box of striped neck ties, all perfect joys; spats, a
lounging gown, ever so many gloves and the snappiest little cane in
all the world. And what have I around me now? A swab on one side, a
bucket on the other, a broom draped over my shoulder, C.P.O.'s in