CHAPTER FIVE
“I’ve heard on good authority,” Henry Whelan said, “that the sergeant is going for rank.”
The sergeant laughed. Usually his laugh was either aloof to a fault or hearty to a fault. With some men a noncommissioned officer had to be careful not to be too friendly and with others he had to be careful not to be too distant. For this occasion the sergeant went down the middle.
“Maybe. Oh, maybe.”
Another bottle came in from the edge of the circle. David Kyle, having learned many lessons in military prudence, took a long drink while it was there. Then he passed the bottle on.
“Aaah,” the sergeant sighed. “Aaah, that’s great.”
“That’s an officer talking,” Henry Whelan said. “A loo-tenant. I always figured Jack Kennebec was loo-tenant material. I could give you a dissertation.”
