As a side benefit David no longer needed to give planning to the pursuit of his favorite sport. He spent his time off in unworried domesticity, with perfect chaperonage.* (* Context implies second meaning. J.F.45th)
As for the rest of David's career in school, one may assume that a lad who could substitute six weeks of unsupervised reading for four years of formal schooling could also stand first in his class academically. This would pay off in money and rank as a young officer's place on the promotion list was determined by his standing at graduation.
But the competition for first place is sharp indeed, and- worse-makes the cadet who achieves it conspicuous. David became aware of this when he was a fresh-caught plebe. "Mister, are you a savoir?" that is to say: "academically brainy"-was another trick question; a plebe was damned whether he answered Yes or No.
But standing second-or even tenth-was practically as useful as first place. David noticed something else: The fourth year counted four times as much as the first, the next to the last year three times as much, and so on down-that is, a plebe's marks did not affect his final standing much-only one part in ten.
David decided to maintain a "low profile"-always the smart decision when one is likely to be shot at.
He finished the first half of his plebe year a little above midway in his class-safe, respectable, inconspicuous. He ended his plebe year in' the upper quarter-but by that time the first classmen were thinking only of graduation and paid no attention to his status. His second year he moved to the upper 10 percent; his third year he improved that by a few numbers-and his last year, when it counted most, he went all out and finished with a final standing for four years of sixth-but effectively second, for of those higher in ranking two elected to leave the line of command for specialization, one was not commissioned because he had damaged his eyes by studying too hard, and one resigned after he graduated.
But the care with which David managed his class standing does not show his true talent for laziness-after all, sitting down and reading was his second, favorite pastime, and anything which merely called for excellent memory and logical reasoning was 'no effort to him.
During the mock-warfare cruise that opened David's last year of school a group of his classmates were discussing what cadet ranks each would receive. By then, they knew pretty well which ones would be selected as cadet officers. Jake is certain to be cadet corps commander-unless he falls overboard. Who gets his battalion? Steve? Or Stinky?
Someone suggested that Dave was in line for that battalion. Dave had been listening instead of talking, a 'standard feature of his "low profile"-and very nearly a third way to lie, Ira, and easier than its equivalent-talking while saying nothing-and also tends to give the nontalker a reputation for wisdom. Never cared for it myself-talking is the second of the three real pleasures in life and the only thing that sets us apart from the apes. Though just barely.
Now David broke-or appeared to break-his habitual reserve. "No battalion for me," he said. "No indeedy! I'm going to be regimental adjutant and stand out in front where the girls can see me."
Perhaps his remark wasn't taken seriously-regimental adjutant is lower than battalion commander. But it was certain to be repeated, and David knew it, perhaps by the prospective cadet regimental commander to commissioned officers making the selections for cadet officers.
No matter- David was chosen regimental adjutant.
In any military organization of that time, a regimental adjutant did stand out in front, all alone, where female visitors could hardly avoid seeing him. But one may doubt that this figured into Dave's plans.
The regimental adjutant attends no formations other than full regimental formations. He goes to and from classes alone, instead of marching or being marched. Other first classmen are responsible each for some unit of cadets, be it squad, platoon, company, battalion, or regiment; the regimental adjutant has no such responsibilities and only one minor administrative task; he keeps the watch list for the most senior of the cadet officers.
But he is not on that watch list himself. Instead he is supernumerary who fills in when one of them is ill.
And this was the lazy man's prize. Those cadet officers were perfect specimens and the chances that one would be too ill to take his day's duty ranged from negligible to zero.
For three years our hero had been standing watch about every tenth day. These watches weren't difficult, but they involved either getting to bed a half hour late or getting up a half hour early, and much standing on tired feet, all an affront to Dave's tender regard for his comfort.
But his last year David stood only three watches, and he "stood" those sitting down, as "Junior Officer of the Watch."
At last the Day arrived. David graduated, was commissioned-then went to the chapel and remarried his wife. If her belly bulged a little, that was not unusual in brides even in those days, and was always ignored, and condoned once a young couple married. It was widely known though rarely mentioned that an eager young bride could accomplish in seven months or less what takes nine for cow or countess.
Dave was safely past all rocks and shoals; he need never again fear going back to that mule and "honest work."
But life as a junior officer in a warship turned out to be less than perfect. It had good points-servants, a comfortable bed, easy work that rarely got David's hands dirty, and twice as much money. But he needed that and more, to support a wife, and his ship was at sea enough that he often lacked the pleasant compensations of marriage. Worst of all, he stood heel-and-toe watches on a short watch list; this meant a four-hour night watch about every other night standing up. He was sleepy much of the time and his feet hurt.
So David applied for training as an aeronaut. This Navy had recently grasped an idea called "air power" and was trying to grab as much of it as possible in order to keep it out of the wrong hands-the Army's hands, that is. They were behind as the Army had grabbed first-so volunteers for flying were welcome.
David was quickly ordered to shore duty to see if he had the makings of an aeronaut.
He had indeed! He not only had the mental and physical qualities but also was highly motivated-as his new work was done sitting down, whether in classroom or in the air, and he stood no night watches and received pay-and-a-half for sitting down and sleeping at home; flying was classed as "hazardous duty" and extra pay was awarded.
I had best say something about these aeroplanes since they resemble not at all the aerodynes you are used to. In a way they were hazardous. So is breathing. They were not as hazardous as the automotive ground vehicles then in use, and not nearly as hazardous as being a pedestrian. Accidents, fatal and otherwise, usually could be traced to a mistake on the part of the aeronaut-David never let that sort of accident happen to him. He had no wish to be the hottest pilot in the sky; he merely wanted to be the oldest.
Aeroplanes were weird monstrosities looking like nothing in the sky today, save possibly a child's kite-they were often called "kites." They had two wings, one above the other, and the aeronaut sat between them. A small baffle helped to deflect wind from his face. Don't look surprised; these flimsy structures flew very slowly, pulled through the air by a powered screw.
Wings were made of varnished cloth held rigid by struts- you can see from this alone that their speeds could never be any large fraction of the speed of sound-except on sad occasions when an overly eager pilot would dive straight down, then pull the wings off through trying too abruptly to recover a normal attitude.