It fit him well enough, but to his eye the fit was perfect, the styling superb. As a matter of fact, the uniform lacked style, decoration, trim, insignia, or flattering’ cut.
But Matt thought he looked wonderful.
Burke pounded on the 'fresher door. "Have you died in there?" He stuck his head in. "Oh-all right, so you look sweet. Now how about getting out?"
"Coming." Matt stalled around the room for a few minutes, then overcome by impatience, tucked his regulation book in his tunic (regulation #383), and went to the refectory. He walked in feeling self-conscious, proud, and about seven feet tall. He sat down at his table, one of the first to arrive. Cadets trickled in; Cadet Sabbatello was one of the last.
The oldster looked grimly down the table. "Attention," he snapped. "All of you-stand up."
Matt jumped to his feet with the rest. Sabbatello sat down. "From now on, gentlemen, make it a rule to wait until your seniors are seated. Be seated." The oldster studied the studs in front of him, punched his order, and looked up. The youngsters had resumed eating. He rapped the table sharply. "Quiet, please. Gentlemen, you have many readjustments to make. The sooner you make them, the happier you will be. Mr. Dodson-stop dunking your toast; you are dripping it on your uniform. Which brings me," he went on, "to the subject of table manners-"
Matt returned to his quarters considerably subdued.
He stopped by Tex's room and found him thumbing through the book of regulations. "Hello, Matt. Say, tell me something-is there anything in this bible that says Mr. Dynkowski has the right to tell me not to blow on my coffee?"
"I see you've had it, too. What happened?"
Jarman's friendly face wrinkled. "Well, I'd begun to think of Ski as an all- right guy, helpful and considerate. But this morning at breakfast he starts out by asking me how I manage to carry around ~all that penalty-weight." Tex glanced at his waist line; Matt noted with surprise that Tex looked quite chubby in cadet uniform.