ns of the great captains instead of attempting to become
a great captain himself. I do not condemn him for this: the organization
of the army is such as to encourage impracticality and inadvertence, but
the consequences were unfortunate for me. He named me after his favorite
heroes, Stuart Hannibal Ireton Thario, and so aloof was he from the
vulgarities of everyday life that it was not until my monogram was
ordered painted upon my first piece of luggage that the unfortunate
combination of my initials was noted. Hannibal and Ireton promptly
suppressed in the interests of decency, nevertheless at West Point my
surname was twisted by fellow classmates into Lothario, giving it a
connotation quite foreign to my nature. I lived down both vexations only
to encounter a third. Though Ireton remained successfully concealed, the
Hannibal leaked out and when, during the World War, I had the misfortune
to lead a company which was decimated"--his hand strayed to the ribbons
on his chest--"behind my back the enlistedmen called me Cannibal
Thario."

He began discussing another drink. "Of one thing I'm resolved: my son
shall not suffer as I have suffered. I did not send him to West Point so
he might win decorations on the field of valor and then be shunted off
to sit behind an unsoldierly desk. I broke with tradition when I kept
him from a military career, quite on purpose, just as I was thinking of
his welfare and not some silly foible of my own when I called him by the
simplest name I could find."

"What is your son's name?" I was constrained to ask.

"George," he answered proudly, "George Thario. There is no nickname for
George as far as I know."

"And he's not in the army now?" I queried, more in politeness than
interest.

"No, and I don't intend he shall be." The general's pink face grew
pinker with his vehemence. "Albert, there are plenty of dunderheads and
duffers like me in the country who are good for nothing better than
cannonfodder. Let them go and be killed. I'm willing enough--only an
idiotic General Staff has booted me into the Quartermaster Corps for
which I am no more fitted than to run an academy for lady marines--but
I'm not willing for a fine sensitive boy, a talented musician like
George to suffer the harsh brutalities of a trainingcamp and
battlefield."

"The draft ..." I began tentatively.

"If George had a civilian position in an essential industry--say one
holding a contract with the army for badly neede