There was a bench close by, on the edge of the asphalt walk, and the Sergeant dropped rather than sat upon it.
"Excuse me, sir," he said to Broussard, "but the news you give me takes all my nerve away, and yet it's the best news I ever heard in my life.
You know, sir, it was some words of mine--and God knows I never meant to harm Lawrence--that made him strike me, and then he got scared and----" "I know all about it," replied Broussard, sitting down on the bench by the Sergeant.

"Of course, you felt pretty bad about it.

Any man would." Something between a sob and a groan burst from the Sergeant.
"I've worn chevrons for twenty-seven years, sir," he said.

"I was made a sergeant when I was twenty-five.

I've handled all sorts of men and licked 'em into shape and I ain't got it on my conscience as I ever tried to make a man's lot any harder, or to discourage him, and I never spoke an insultin' word to a soldier in my life, and I hope I'll be called to report to the Great Commander before I do.