Walden Two

Walden Two

Walden Two

Walden Two


HE TURNED up one day in the doorway of my office. He was already out of uniform, but he had not yet lost the leathery tan which testified to his military service. He was tall and fair and he had the pleasant, easy smile of the successful college graduate. He might have been any one of half a dozen former students whom I vaguely remembered.

He stood hesitantly for a moment, as if at attention, then stretched out his hand and came forward.

"Hello, sir," he said brightly. I fumbled for the name and he added, "Rogers, sir. 'Forty-one."

"Oh, Rogers, Rogers, by all means," I said. "Glad to see you. Come in and sit down."

He turned to the door, and I saw that he had brought with him another young man showing the same history of wind and sun.

"Professor Burris, this is Lieutenant Jamnik. We were together in the Philippines, sir."

Jamnik shook hands shyly. He was shorter than Rogers by three or four inches, and heavily built. His thin lips failed him as he tried to smile, and he was apparently quite unaware of the force of his grip. Not a college man, I judged, and a bit frightened at meeting a professor. Perhaps Rogers had made it harder by calling me "sir." This had nothing to do with any former military rank of mine, and must have been a carry-over from preparatory school days.

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