Sargent Kennedy leaned back in his chair and scrutinized the khaki-clad private with deanlike eye. Watching the minutes of his furlough tick by, the private gave the dean a flshy, enlisted-man's stare--the attentive, ingratiating stare that might go with muddy boots or non-G.I. shoes.
Still in the Army, the little man wanted to be allowed to register and attend classes till he returned to his employers for final separation. No vet was he and no civilian, but the hospitable dean saw fit to stretch a point and in a gesture of good will extended his hand with an affable, "Good luck, Mr. Twombly." Harking back to his Army etiquette, young Twombly replied, "Thank you, Sargent."