“Well spoken, my lad!” approved Terry. “Let’s have the plainest uniform you have. Natural beauty ennobles whatever enshrines it, so bring out whatever you have!”
“Why bother with a uniform at all?” laughed the cadet clerk. “The colonel and the rest of us will be so busy admiring your looks that we won’t notice anything else!”
There was a general laugh at this, as Dick Rowen, the cadet in charge of the commissary department, stepped to the counter, a frown on his face.
Rowen was a handsome young man with glossy black hair. He had never been popular with the cadet body, however, for he continually reminded everyone of the wealth and prestige of his family. But he was a very capable cadet and was respected though not popular. He had been placed in charge of the commissary department much to his annoyance, for he considered it beneath him. Rowen was striving for an officer’s commission, and it did not please him to be “dud chucker,” as the cadets called the commissary clerks. All day the endless routine of passing out uniforms, blouses, hats and shoes had galled him, and at the present moment his temper was ragged.
“What is the trouble here?” Cadet Rowen demanded crisply.
The clerk who was waiting on Terry turned to stare at him. “There’s no trouble, Rowen,” he said.
Rowen looked across the counter at Terry. “Is there any trouble, Mr. Mackson?”
Terry shook his head gravely. “No, Mr. Rowen. I am simply trying to draw a uniform that will match my beauty, that’s all!”
Rowen frowned more deeply. “Have the goodness to understand, Mr. Mackson, that we are very busy here, and that such infant’s prattle merely wastes our time!”
“All right, Papa!” returned Terry sedately. The others snickered and Rowen grew angry.