“I am a too-loo-loo bird, sir! Peep-y-ty-peep, sir! Poop-y-ty-poop! Ah! ... there. I’m the sunshine of Paradise Alley, sir; I am a queen, sir. My hair is sky-blue pink with a heavenly border, sir! Don’t you think I’m handsome, sir? I don’t give a damn, sir!” This “tech” became famous, the peep-y-ty-peep part fastening itself upon him as a nickname. Of course, all of these pranks were carried on _sub rosa_ and presumedly without the sanction or knowledge of the authorities. One night, however, the cadet was detailed for guard for the first time. It happened that his tour of duty was from 2 A.M. to 4 A.M., those awful hours of the night. “Peep-y-ty-peep” was patrolling his post ready to charge anything that came along. Suddenly the huge shadow of a cavalry Tactical officer with a rattling saber and jingling spurs loomed out of the darkness. Frantically “Peep-y-ty-peep” charged down the post screaming, “Halt! Halt! who’s thar?” (in good old Alabama English), until most of the sleeping cadets in the vicinity of the post were awakened. After a few minutes of backing and filling the massive cavalry officer arrived in front of the now thoroughly bewildered “sunshine of Paradise Alley,” and began to ask him his orders. Poor old “Peep-y-ty-peep” forgot them all, general and special. After vain, fruitless efforts to obtain an expression of opinion of some sort from the sentinel, this officer said in desperation: “Who are you, anyway?” Whereupon perfectly seriously the rooky sentinel cried at the top of his voice, while the nearby tents shook with laughter, “I’m a too-loo-loo bird, sir! Peep-y-ty-peep, sir! Poop-y-ty-poop, sir! Ah...! there. I’m the sunshine of Paradise Alley, sir! I’m--” The Tactical officer hurriedly disappeared. Such incidents as the above kept the plebes from becoming too depressed. The fun of the upper-classmen found many other outlets. On days when watermelons were served in the Mess Hall, the plebes were required at the conclusion of the meal to fill their mouths with seeds, and thus loaded to the gunwales to march back to camp. The wriggling, squirming, slippery little black particles fought with one another to burst open the encircling mouth _en cul de poule_ and leap to freedom, and occasionally their efforts were successful, on the march back to camp, to the detriment of the blouse of the plebe’s front rank file. More frequently, however, upon arrival at camp, the plebes of A Co. were lined up at six paces from those of B Co., and at a given signal the human machine guns belched forth their glossy black bullets. One upper-classman ordered me to gather a handful from the battlefield and plant them around his tent. To my dismay and chagrin they sprouted, whereupon I was instructed to care for them, keep them in health or sickness, and train the growing vines on slender cords.