From Here to Eternity by James Jones

me, men," though both of them were standing. The voice was followed by a little man, shorter yet than Prewitt, who came walking quick-stepping with a ramrod back behind it through the door, dressed in dapper, tailored CKCs and sporting 2nd Lieutenant's bars. He stopped when he saw Prewitt. "I dont know you, do I, soldier?" said the little man. "Whats your name?" "Prewitt, Sir," Prew said, looking around at Warden who was grinning wryly. "Prewitt, Prewitt, Prewitt," said the little man. "You must be a new man, a transfer. Because I dont know that name." "Transferred from A Compny, this morning, Sir," Prew said. "Ah," said the little man. "I knew it. If I didnt know that name, I knew it wasnt in the Company. I spent three bloody weeks sweating out a roster of this Company just so I could call each man by his name. My father always told me a good officer knows every man in his outfit by name, preferably by his nickname. Whats your nickname, soldier?" 'They call me Prew, Sir," Prew said, still not acute, awake or cognizant before this swiftly talking blob of energy. "Of course," said the little man. "I should have known that. I'm Lt Culpepper, recently of West-Point-on-the-Hudson, now of this Company. You're the new fighter, arent you, the welterweight? Too bad you didnt get here before the close of the season. Glad to have you aboard, Prewitt, glad to have you aboard, as the Old Man and his colleagues in the navy would say." Lt Culpepper sprinted around the little room laying papers here and there in their different boxes. "You probably know of me," he said, "if you have read the Regimental Chronicles. My father and his grandfather before him both began their careers in this Company as 2nd Looies, both rose to command of this Company, then to command of this Regiment before they became general officers. I am following in their illustrious footsteps. Hear hear. "Hey, hey," he said. "Wheres my golf bag, Sergeant Warden? I have a golf date with Colonel Prescott's daughter in fifteen minutes, then lunch, then more golf." "Its in the closet there," Warden said aloofly, "behind the filing cabinet." "Ah, yes," said Lt Culpepper, son of Brigadier Culpepper, grandson of Lt General Culpepper, great grandson of Lt Col Culpepper, C.S.A. "I'll get it, Sergeant, dont bother," he said to Warden who had not moved. "I've got to do my eighteen holes today. Big party at the Club tonight and I've got to be in shape." He pulled the golf bag out from behind the green art metal filing cabinet, knocking a sheaf of files off the corner of the table which he did not pick up, and breezed out as swiftly as he had come, saying nothing more to Prewitt. Disgustedly Warden picked the files up and put them back where they had been. "Come on," he said to Prewitt. "I'll fix you up. I got work to do." He walked over behind Holmes's desk and stood looking at the chart of the Company's personnel organization that hung there with little cardboard tabs containing each man's name and separated into platoons and squads and hanging from screw hooks. "Wheres your stuff?" he said. "Still at A Compny. I dint want to pack my clean uniforms." Warden grinned his sly pixy grin. "Still the dude, hunh? Havent changed a bit. Takes more than clothes to make a soljer, Prewitt. A whole helluva lot more." He took a blank tab from one of Holmes's desk drawers and printed Prewitt's name on it. "There a machine-gun cart leaning up against the wall outside the supplyroom. Take that over for your stuff. Save you makin four five trips." "Okay," Prew said, surprised at the beneficence and unable to keep it off his face. Warden grinned at him, relishing the surprise. "I'd hate to see you muss them uniforms, kid. I hate to see any kind of energy wasted, even it its been wasted once already. "We ought to be able to fix you up in a good squad," he grinned. "Now how would you like to be in Chief Choate's squad?" "What're you tryin to do?" Prew said, "kid me? I dont see you puttin me in Big Chief's