The Jeeps, troops, and sewing machines were now drawn up next to the Far Common
quadrangle. There was some kind of consultation or ceremony under way on the steps of one of
the buildings, Veazy Hall. The Headmaster and a few of the senior members of the faculty stood
in a group before the door, and a number of Army Air Force officers stood in another group
within easy speaking distance of them. Then the Headmaster advanced several steps and
enlarged his gestures; he was apparently addressing the troops. Then an officer took his place
and spoke longer and louder; we could hear his voice fairly well but not make out the words.
Around them spread a beautiful New England day. Peace lay on Devon like a blessing, the
summer’s peace, the reprieve, New Hampshire’s response to all the cogitation and deadness of
winter. There could be no urgency in work during such summers; any parachutes rigged would
be no more effective than napkins.
Or perhaps that was only true for me and a few others, our gypsy band of the summer before. Or
was it rarer even than that; had Chet and Bobby sensed it then, for instance? Had Leper, despite
his trays of snails? I could be certain of only two people, Phineas and myself. So now it might be
true only for me.
The company fell out and began scattering through the Far Common. Dormitory windows began
to fly open and olive drab blankets were hung over the sills by the dozens to air. The sewing
machines were carried with considerable exertion into Veazy Hall.
“Dad’s here,” said Brinker. “I told him to take his cigar down to the Butt Room. He wants to
meet you.”
We went downstairs and found Mr. Hadley sitting in one of the lumpy chairs, trying not to look
offended by the surroundings. But he stood up and shook my hand with genuine cordiality when
we came in. He was a distinguished-looking man, taller than Brinker so that his portliness was
not very noticeable. His hair was white, thick, and healthy-looking and his face was healthily
pink.
“You boys look fine, fine,” he said in his full and cordial voice, “better I would say than those
doughboys—G.I.’s—I saw marching in. And how about their artillery! Sewing machines!”
Brinker slid his fingers into the back pockets of his slacks. “This war’s so technical they’ve got
to use all kinds of machines, even sewing machines, don’t you think so, Gene?”
“Well,” Mr. Hadley went on emphatically, “I can’t imagine any man in my time settling for duty
on a sewing machine. I can’t picture that at all.” Then his temper switched tracks and he smiled
cordially again. “But then times change, and wars change. But men don’t change, do they? You
boys are the image of me and my gang in the old days. It does me good to see you. What are you
enlisting in, son,” he said, meaning me, “the Marines, the Paratroops? There are doggone many
exciting things to enlist in these days. There’s that bunch they call the Frogmen, underwater
demolition stuff. I’d give something to be a kid again with all that to choose from.”