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Peeling off their trousers after six weeks of unmitigated wear the supply school midshipmen finally received a supply of new pants. It seems that when they came from Columbia to begin their ordeal here they only had one pair of beautiful dress pants with a crease in the front. Not in the side, but in the front.
But pants is pants and time will tell. Slowly the creases went from the front and a shine appeared at the back. Six weeks is a long time in the trouser world, they decided. And then they got invited to a dance. "Most important party that has come to my attention this year," match-maker Beatrice Glard announced.
The strain had become almost too much to bear, even the sympathetic bevy at the Vendome looked askance at the now bell-bottomed trousers of the hapless middles. But relief came at last as bales of shineless, creaseful trousers poured into the school; beaming faces flocked around the commissary, and departed, clutching madly at their proud new possessions.
"The saga of our battle will be written in golden letters across the pages of history," they cried. "Ricken-backer had nothing on us."
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