Before the colonel could say anything Dundon looked at the lieutenant with a wide, amiable, thoroughly unexpected smile. "Don't mind us son, no time for manners. Have a cigar."
The lieutenant politely refused. The colonel took off his coat and began to dry himself out, talking as he moved.
"Well, as far as I can recall, here's the poop. His name is Augustus Webster Hilton, Second Lieutenant, RA, out of Fort Benning. He's six foot six and a half, weighs two hundred and forty some odd pounds. Age: 25. Nickname: Web. AGCT score of 145."
Dundon's eyes lifted.
"He's got a head on him," the colonel agreed. "Army record superior to excellent. Present assignment instructing in orbits and trajectory at Base Training. Qualities of Organization, Leadership very high. Excellent officer material."
A slight fleeting frown crossed Dundon's face.
"Defects," the colonel said coolly. "Several minor, no major. Minor include a tendency to irk his superiors by failure to consult, by failure to keep his opinions to himself. Nothing unusual for the age, of course. Other defects are his size"—the lieutenant sat without moving through all of this—"and his blood type. He's got some rare kind of thing for which plasma is almost never available. That keeps him from front line duty."
The colonel stopped, began slowly to light a cigarette.
Dundon looked at him oddly.
"Nothing else?"