“No!” Sergeant Harriman was a commander, every inch of him. “Come up and get it, Hicks.”
“Hey, snap out of it, will ya! Call off the rest of the names.”
A path was made, and Hicks finally received the letter.
Harriman looked up. “If you men don’t shut up, you will never get your mail!”
“Private Pugh!”
“Hee-ah. Gimme that lettah. That’s f’m mah sweet mammah.” Pugh wormed his small, skinny body through the men, fretfully calling at those who did not make way quickly enough. He grasped the letter. Then he started back, putting the letter in his pocket unopened.
“Poor old Pugh. Gets a letter and he can’t read.”
“Ain’t that a waste of stationery?”
“Why don’t you ask the captain to write an’ tell your folks not to send you any more mail? Look at all the trouble you cause these mail clerks.”