Sighing, Reilly swiveled his chair again and watched the drillers on the parade ground until the short rat-a-tat-tat sounded again. He turned around in time to face the gangling teenagers trooping through the door.
"Messrs. Whyte, Phillips, Garrett, Gordon, Kaslov and Poirot, sir," announced the Cadet Sergeant-Major before withdrawing again.
"Come in, gentlemen, come in." Reilly stood up. "Find yourselves a seat. Just pile those magazines on the chair, sir. I think three of you will fit admirably on that couch. You others can draw up those chairs by the water cooler. Yes, that's it." He shook hands all around, and then sat down again.
"Now then, your names once more, please?" He fixed them firmly in his mind as each boy introduced himself in turn. "Ah, yes. And I, of course, am General Reilly, Commandant of the Academy."
"Sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Kaslov?"
"Would that be the General Reilly? Of the Deneb Crisis?"
"I see my fame has preceded me, gentlemen. Yes, I am that Reilly. Please, don't let the fact scare you. I assure you, I don't bite off the head of a boy until he is in uniform. Then, gentlemen, you are fair game from then on.
"Now, then," he said. "Are there any other questions before I give you my sales pitch? Yes, Mr. Kaslov?"
"Sir," the boy said, hesitantly, "I believe you knew my grandfather. Sub-Colonel Kaslov? He served with you during the Deneb Crisis."