The men on Bataan kept watching for him. Once in a while he would come around. Everything about him-the angle of his heavily braided cap, the swing of his brown, curve-handled cane, the uptilt of his long black cigaret holder, the shine on his four stars and brown shoes-everything was always jaunty. The men watched for his smile: they usually got it.
Thus, day after dreary day, Douglas MacArthur cheered his tired men. He himself must have been sustained by the growing realization that he was a national hero. Cables and radio messages of congratulations...
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