A battalion of Marines, attired in the colorful dress uniforms of the service, were participating in a short drill on the field just as Panama left the hospital. As the men finished up in line, with the great band playing and the colors flying, an adjutant stepped forward, holding a typewritten list in his gloved hand. One by one, he crisply called out the names of each student, waiting in line, with each proud man coming front and center, halting before the adjutant and saluting his snappiest. Panama rested against the stone pillar of the hospital, watching this familiar procedure, mildly interested until his eyes rested upon Lefty, lounging on the opposite side of the field and wearing a hang-dog look. The hard-boiled sergeant shook his head and smiled sympathetically. At the moment, his heart went right out to the unfortunate boy who just couldn’t seem to stop from running backward. “Poor kid,” he thought. “Gee, this must be tough on him!” As the first man answered to his name, breaking line and coming before the adjutant, a pompous, heavy-set flying major stepped forward, proudly dressed in the smart uniform of his rank, conscious of the row of medals and citations that crossed the left side of his chest. He mechanically returned the student’s salute, then turned and accepted a new, shiny silver wing from a kindly, old white-haired man, whose gold braided epaulets identified him as an admiral in the service of the United States Navy. The ostentatious Marine major, with a rehearsed air of distinguished solemnity plainly visible upon his puffed face, proceeded to pin the silver wing upon the breast of the student, whose flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes easily betrayed the boy’s pride. The student grasped the major’s and the admiral’s extended hands, came to attention, saluted them both, then executing a snappy about face, returned to the ranks of anxious, waiting Marines. After this mechanical performance had been repeated several times, Panama yawned in a bored fashion, bit off a large chew of tobacco and wandered down the white steps to the field, crossing to the opposite side where Lefty, attired in a greasy dungaree khaki jumper, unable to bring himself to watch the ceremony any longer, was keeping busy by inflating air into the tire of an airplane landing gear wheel. A few steps away from where Lefty was bending over a hand pump, Panama stopped and watched the boy for a moment. His years in the service had taught him that the worse thing anyone can do for a man who has failed is to sympathize with him, so assuming a careless, hard-boiled attitude, the sergeant lifted his foot and let the surprised boy have it. Lefty regained his bearings and swung around, waiting to confront this new kind of antagonist only to gaze up into Panama’s laughing and mischievous eyes. “Come on, soldier,” Williams chided, “snap out of it! What’s eatin’ you, anyway?”