p65  Cadet Pepys — First Class

 p66  January 29, 1943 . . . .

Monday. It is a strange, new thing, this being a first classman, but I love it. I have such fun misusing my power. Since Graduation I have counted the day wasted that I did not blight a life. There is one thing, however, that I do not understand, and that is the make list. We all know that you-know‑who works in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, but one or two points about the list of cadet appointments leave me livid. It is not for myself that I complain, if honest worth and solid merit are to go unrewarded, it is quite all right with me, but it would seem that someone was all coked up when he put my other wife down as a supply sergeant. I have known gibbons that would make better supply sergeants than my other wife.

Tuesday. My other wife, never very stable emotionally, has begun to exhibit a chameleon-like aspect of mind. It is all the fault of Military History. Depending upon what we study he is either Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, or Attila the Hun. The day he was Attila, was one terrible day. What we shall do when we take up Napoleon I do not know. People are apt to act on impulse when someone who is a well-known stupid comes up and announces he is the Emperor of the French.

Wednesday. In one of the few moments that he was being himself our supply sergeant lost the key to his safe today. Knowing the number and kind of poop-sheets in that oversize biscuit tin I believe that in two or three days Cadet Headquarters is going to start revolving about its lateral axis. Cadet administration is like an enormous delicately adjusted machine and to abstract even one tiny poop-sheet has the same effect upon it as the sudden explosion of eight pounds of nitrostarch upon a seventeen jewel Elgin chronometer.

Thursday. Not a bad day, today. Blighted three lives with a single form one. This puts me two ahead of the game.

Friday. My sane wife is a creature of routine. This I would not mind if it were not for the fact that I still, before every class, have to go to Tenth Avenue and retrieve him from some yearling section and lead him to class.

Saturday. I said something, but it's out.

Sunday. My sane wife has found a mixture of half-and‑half Wilson Cleaner and Noxon​a with a spoonful of Silicon powder so efficacious upon his breast-plate that he has been using it as an after-shave lotion. He had better stop as one can now see his wisdom teeth when he is not smiling.

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Thayer's Note:

a Noxon is the brand name of a metal polish, still sold today. It is currently manufactured by Reckitt Benckiser; see their webpage.

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