He polished his shoes, and shaved, and he spent a half hour on
some ten sadly neglected finger-nails. At retreat he stood at
attention in the long line, and watched the flag moving slowly and
majestically to the stirring bugle notes. Something swelled almost
to bursting in his throat. That was his flag. He was going to
fight for it. And after that was done he was going to find some
girl, some nice girl - the sort, for instance, that would leave
her home to work in a hostess house. And having found her, he
would marry her, and love and cherish her all his life. Unless,
of course, she wouldn't have him. He was inclined to think she
wouldn't.
He ate very little supper that night, little being a comparative
term, of course. And then he went to discover Delight. It appeared,
however, that she had been already discovered. She was entirely
surrounded by uniforms, and Graham furiously counted a colonel, two
majors, and a captain.
"Pulling rank, of course!" he muttered, and retired to a corner,
where he had at least the mild gratification of seeing that even
the colonel could not keep Delight from her work.
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