"The faces change, Sergeant. How many thousands of boys have come through these doors? The uniform never changes, though. And I suppose that's really the most important thing, in its essence—the uniform and the tradition."
"That it is, sir."
Reilly chuckled. "You know, Sergeant, I never considered myself a particularly sentimental man. Still, the faster the years fly by, the dearer old memories become. The clearer, too. I can recall things that happened when I was a boy much easier than I can remember what I had for breakfast this morning. And I know that's a sign of old age."
He picked up his coffee and made a face when he found it cold. "Sergeant, as two old men sharing the past, how about having a cup of something a bit stronger than this watery brew with me?"
"Sir! I really don't think...."
"Oh, bother regulations, Sergeant! I'm speaking as a man now, not as a general. I'd deem it an honor."
"Then I'd be proud to, sir."
He sat down in the visitor's chair while Reilly opened the bottom drawer of his desk and drew out a bottle and two very dusty glasses. He blew into them, set them on the edge of the desk and poured generous measures of the amber liquid. The sergeant accepted his with a bow of his head. They raised their glasses.
"To yesterday, Sergeant."