the canteen, where they procured
the rating badges. This was a square of blue cloth on which was a
white circle with two fine lines drawn across the circle at right
angles to each other, representing the crossed sights such as one finds
in a telescope rifle.

The boys lost no time in sewing them on their sleeves, after which they
paraded the forward deck, doing their best to look unconcerned. Their
efforts in this direction were failures.

"Hello, Dynamite! I see you've got your hash marks," greeted a
companion.

"Oh, you mean this," answered Dan, with glowing face, as he held up his
arm.

"I've got one, too, even if I couldn't hit the side of a barn," spoke
up the red-headed Hickey. "I told the captain of number four how I had
plugged woodchucks back home, though, and I guess that convinced him
that I could shoot big guns."

"Say, Hickey, speaking of hash marks, have you got any on you yet?"

"I'm just telling you I have one here. I'm a gun pointer. If you
don't believe it, come over to the turret and I'll point one at you.
It'll make you jump when the pop-gun goes off, I'll bet."

"No, no; I don't mean that kind of a hash mark," laughed his companion.

"What kind, then?"

"Tattoo marks. We call them hash marks."

"I get tattooed--is that what you mean?"

"Of course; every sailor--every real sailor--has that done."

"What for?"

"Just to be the real thing; that's all."

"I don't know. I hadn't thought of it."

"I'll take you over to Needle Johnson, if you want to have it done."

"Well, I don't know," reflected Sam. "Does it hurt?"

"Of course it doesn't. You will not even feel it. Doesn't hurt half
as much as the sting of a Jersey mosquito."

"I'll go and talk with What's-his-name----"

"Needle Johnson."

"Yes. Where's Dan?"

"I think he has gone below. You come along, and he'll be surprised and
envious when he finds you have had the job done," continued the boy's
shipmate with a wink at some of the others standing by.

Sam somewhat reluctantly followed the jackie below, where, after some
searching about, they finally located Needle Johnson. Needle was an
old-time sea dog, wearing a heavy crop of whiskers and with a voice
that would have done credit to a boatswain's mate.

"Here's a lad who hasn't had a hash mark put on his skin, and he's been
on board for three months."

Needle gazed at the red-headed boy pityingly.

"You don't mean it?"

"Yes. I told him he wouldn't