"Ha!" said the little doctor, "this is the sort we want," and he
rubbed his gold-rimmed glasses on his handkerchief. "Chest, thirty-
four--thirty-seven," said the doctor, tapping with his tape-measure,
"How did yer do that?"

"What, sir?" said I, gasping, for I was trying to blow my chest out,
or burst.

"Had breathing exercises?"

"No, sir--I'm a scout."

"Ha!" said he, and noticed my knees were brown with sunburn because I
always wore shorts.

I passed the eyesight test, and they took my name down, and my
address, occupation and age.

"Ever bin in the army before?"

"No, sir."

"Married?"

"No, sir."

"Ever bin in prison?"

"No, sir."