I suppose you're my Cousin Bantmore?"
"'Banty,'" was all the stricken boy could reply.
"Oh, good! I like that, 'Banty.' That's a great name!" exclaimed the
tall Britisher. "You're lucky! What would you do if you were handicapped
with a tag like mine--Constantine--with all the dubs at school calling
you 'Tiny' for short, while you stood a good five feet nine in your
socks? Isn't it dreadful?"
Instantly Banty found his heart warming towards this big pink cousin,
who bore with such sturdy good humor the affliction of such a terrible
name. "It _is_ bad," he assented, "but it might be doctored. Haven't you
got a middle name?"
"It's worse," grinned the victim. "It's St. Ives. I tried it on the
second term, and the crowd called me 'Ivy,' and one smartie sent me a
piece of blue ribbon to tie my yellow curls with--he wrote _that_ in
an insulting note."
"What'd you do?" gasped Banty.
"Licked him in full view of the whole school, and he was a senior;
trimmed him till he couldn't see," was the smiling reply.
"Good boy!" almost shouted Banty.
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