When a student at the Point he had the habit of combing his long hair
in class with his fingers, which brought this frequent command from
Lieutenant Caleb Huse:

"Mr. Whistler, go to your room and comb your hair!"

* * * * *

Examined on history at West Point, he failed to recall the date of the
battle of Buena Vista. "Suppose," said the exasperated instructor,
"you were to go out to dinner and the company began to talk of the
Mexican War, and you, a West Point man, were asked the date of the
battle; what would you do?"

"Do?" was the reply. "Why, I should refuse to associate with people
who could talk of such things at dinner!"

* * * * *

He disliked the work of the riding class at West Point, and one day
wished to exchange his heavy horse for a lighter animal. The dragoon
in charge called out: "Oh, don't swap, don't you swap! Yours is a
war-horse!"

"A war-horse!" exclaimed the little cadet. "That settles it. I
certainly don't want him!"

"Yes, you do, sir," insisted the dragoon. "He's a war-horse, I tell
you, for he'd rather die than run!"