When six more were under orders, Randolph strolled back to the front of his tent, and as fast as the plebs came up, he passed them in. They might stand at ease, but must not talk above a whisper. When they were all in hiding, Randolph spoke through the closed door of the tent.
"Mr. Johnson!" in a low undertone.
"Yes, sir."
"Your special technical name for this evening is Hippotherium. Do you hive it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Upstart! Your special name till tattoo is Semnopithereus."
"Mr. Parboil!"
"Mr. Carboil, sir," said the poor pleb, with a mild preference for his own name.
"I said Parboil. Your name will be Cereopithereus. Mr. Cereopithereus, you are first cousin to Mr. Semnopithereus, and according to Darwin, you each bear the same relation to a man that a pleb does to his superiors."
So the eight names were given, and then Randolph began again: