be a real sailor until he had some paint
stuck under his hide."

"That's the sure thing, my lad, and I'm the salt that can give you the
purtiest hashings you ever set eyes on. Where did you reckon you
wanted the marks put?"

"I hadn't reckoned anything about it. I guess I don't want any of
those hash marks, as you call them," Sam returned.

"What? Not want them? Of course you do."

Sam reflected a moment, then gave a reluctant consent.

"What kind of a tattoo would you suggest?"

"A pig's foot, by all means, matey. That's the latest and most
fashionable decoration that a gentleman can wear. How'll you have it!"

"I'll take mine pickled, if it's all the same to you," answered Sam
soberly.

The jackies roared.

"What do you take me for--a sea-cook?" growled Johnson. "Take off your
right shoe if you want to do business with me."

"What for?"

"For the hash. You wouldn't have a pig's foot anywhere else, would
you?"

"I--I don't know."

"That's the only place to put it, and it will bring you luck."

In the meantime Needle Johnson had gotten out his case of needles and
his coloring matter.

"You are sure it won't hurt?" asked Sam.

"You won't feel a thing. Now, hold perfectly still. If you jerked, or
anything, I might make a pig's tail instead of a pig's foot. That
would be tough, wouldn't it, matey?"

"It might be tough for you. Ou-u-u-uch!"

Sam Hickey's foot came up with such suddenness that Needle was unable
to dodge it. The foot caught Needle fairly on the nose, bowling him
over to the deck, while all hands were shrieking with delight over his
discomfiture.

"What--what do you mean, you--you lubber?" demanded Needle angrily,
rubbing the injured member, then shaking a fist under the red-headed
boy's nose.

"You--you said it wouldn't hurt."

"Hurt nothing!"

"I should say it did hurt. What are you trying to do--drill a hole all
the way through my foot? I don't want any hash marks. I'll get along
with just my natural skin, whether I have any luck or not. Give me
that shoe."

"Say, fellows," spoke up a jackie. "I reckon Red-head had better have
a pig's foot, eh!"

"You bet he had," chorused the others.

"And he won't do it of his own free will."

"So he says."

"Then it seems to be our solemn duty to take the job into our own
hands, does it not, mates?"

"It is."

"All right, then. Seaman Hickey, do we get it straight that you defy
the rules of our profession by r