In war games at Camp Haan, Calif, two sweating runners who delivered messages from a front-line unit to a National Guard captain forgot their manners. They made no salutes, sirred no "sirs." Better-trained, a third messenger saluted, pistol-shot his heels, intoned: "Private Vetters, serving in the capacity of a messenger, reporting with a message from Lieut. Smith, sir."
The captain paused to point a moral for the speedier couriers: Private Vetters had had presence of mind, knew how to address a superior. Then he asked for the message. Soldier Vetters, Bayard but no Phidippides, frisked his pockets, thumbed his belt. Quavered he:...
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