The two younger members of the Board looked at him doubtfully. “What do you think, sir?”
“Done in,” said the President laconically. . . .
They sent for Peter and put the position to him. “Go into a nursing-home—or resign your commission. Either way you’ll never be fit for active service again.”
Peter thought the matter over for fifteen seconds; then he said, “Very good, sir. I’ll chuck it.”
They entered up more papers; certified him for a temporary pension. They advised him to live in the country; and forgot to acknowledge his meticulous salute. “Next officer, please,” Peter heard behind him as his spur-chains clanked down the corridor.
Once in the open air, he found himself trembling all over. He let himself tremble. He could tremble till Kingdom Come if it amused him. Trembling passed. He lit a cigar; hailed a taxi.
“Where to, sir?” asked the driver.
Peter was conscious of three distinct impulses: to have a drink by himself, to stand somebody else a drink, and to be stood a drink by somebody.
“The Savoy Hotel,” said the man who had finished the course.