Magnus Kindred was speeding along through camp one morning, thinking of home, when he was hailed by an upper classman.
"See here, beast, what's your name?"
Magnus made answer, with what composure of face and voice he could call up at such short notice.
"Where did you come from?" And again the reply came with fair coolness.
"Got so few men out there, they give 'em long names to stretch out and cover the country. Who was your pred.?"
"Mr. Dunn, sir. He resigned, sir."
"Good example for you to follow in November," said Mr. Seaton, "but you've got to be taken care of in the mean time. Wipe that smile off, sir! What's your technical name?"
"Haven't got any, sir."
"Well, if anyone asks you that again, tell 'em it's Lorenzo Monkey," said Seaton, and walked away.
Magnus shook his fist at him (mentally), but what can a pleb do? And so to the next inquirer he answered (pretty ungraciously, it must be owned):