End as a Man [antikvár]

One September is a hot month in certain parts of the South, but Maurice Maynali Simmons arrived at The Academy in a heavy wool suit. He wore a vest with watch chain; and a candy-stripe shirt that had attachable collar and cuffs. There was a fuzzy brown hat mashed down over his ears. He had on a pair of shoes that laced up above the ankles. Simmons was covered with sweat; his clothing was soggy and his face and hands streaked from cinders. Apparently he'd ridden on a day coach all the way from Ohio without washing a single time. Almost immediately, he was recognized as a hopeless fool. His Ohio accent, his big red ears, his eye-enlarging spectacles all helped. But the worst part was his conversation and beliefs. He had a strange way of speaking and the things he said were stranger. Simmons was religious: he'd come to The Academy to prepare for a chaplain's job. He anticipated war. This would be with England, however, not Germany. "Think of it," he said. "The English make an alliance with Mexico. They've already got Canada and we'd be hemmed in." Simmons addressed the first upperclassman he saw as "young fellow." This happened two or three minutes after his arrival. He came strolling in his mustard-colored suit through the main gate of Hemphill Barracks. In the most careless fashion he walked out upon the quadrangle and gazed up at the four tiers. An upperclassman ran toward him. Simmons started to walk off in the other direction. "What are you doing on this quadrangle?" shouted the upperclassman. "I beg your pardon?" "Pop to!" "Listen, young fellow. Kindly don't shout at me, I resent it." "You resent it?" "What's this place made of? Is that granite, or concrete?" "Pop to! Heave her up there!" That night at supper a thing happened which increased Simmons' reputation as a fool. He puked on the table. His mess chief, a junior classman named Jocko de Paris, had 9.