"They don't know why I ask that," says the corporal, "but I have a
mighty good reason. From the way a boy answers I can decide which
branch of the service he ought to be connected with. If he wants to
be a soldier just for travel and adventure, I advise the infantry or
the cavalry; but if he seriously wants to learn and study, I
recommend him to the coast artillery or the engineers."

Then comes the physical examination, a vigorous but not exacting
course of sprouts designed to find out if the applicant is capable
of violent exertion and to discover any minor weaknesses; an
examination of eyes, ears, teeth, and nose; and, finally, a cursory
scrutiny for functional disorders.

"I'll take you, Steve," the corporal finally says. "In about a week
we'll send you to the barracks."

"But what am I goin' to do till then? I ain't got a cent."

"Don't worry about that. You'll eat and sleep at Mrs.
Barrows's,"--naming a good, clean boarding-house in the town, the
owner of which has a yearly contract with the Government to take
care of just such embryo recruits; "in the daytime you can hang
around town, and the police won't bother you if you behave yourself.
If they call you for loafin' tell them you're waitin' to get into
the army."

In a week the district recruiting officer, a young lieutenant, drops
in on his regular circuit. The men who have been accepted by the
non-commissioned officer are put through their paces again, and so
expert is the corporal in judging good material that none of Steve's