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"Yes, sir," the waiter replied, with official promptitude. "Directly, sir. What number?" "I forget the number," Guy answered, with a beating heart; "but the name's Billington." "Yes, sir," the waiter responded once more, in the self-same unvaried tone, and went off to the office.
For a moment he sat silent and thoughtful; then he said: "Boy, don't you worry about any family Bible business. Your name's written in the family Bible all right. Take it from me; I know. I'm Glendenning Leighton your father." His eyes glistened. "I'm glad about the name," said Lewis, his face alight. "I'm glad you're my dad, too. But I knew that." "Knew it? How did you know it?"
SECOND YOUNG MAN: What d'you make of the bridesmaid who thinks she's Nora Bayes? Kept telling me she wished this was a ragtime wedding. Name's Haines or Hampton. She's a sort of debt of honor, I believe. Once saved Gloria from drowning, or something of the sort. SECOND YOUNG MAN: I didn't think she could stop that perpetual swaying long enough to swim. Fill up my glass, will you?
My name's Otterson: I'm from out in Iowa." March gave him his name, and added that he was from New York. "Yes. I thought you was Eastern. But that wasn't an Eastern man you was just with?" "No; he's from Chicago. He's a Mr. Stoller." "Not the buggy man?" "I believe he makes buggies." "Well, you do meet everybody here." The Iowan was silent for a moment, as if, hushed by the weighty thought.
"Say three bottles," replied the stranger, seating himself on the counter. "And let 's see a pound of tobacco; a dozen of matches; a tin of baking-powder; and a couple of hobble-chains. I'll make that do till I get as far as Hay. My chaps are squealing for pickles," he continued, turning to me. "I did n't know you at the first glance. Your name's Collins is n't it?
"I'm five feet two inches long, and my name's Shorty, Jack Short for short, and sometimes known as Johnny-on-the-Spot." Kit put out his hand and shook. "Were you raised on bear-meat?" he queried. "Sure," was the answer; "though my first feedin' was buffalo-milk as near as I can remember. Sit down an' have some grub. The bosses ain't turned out yet."
"Well, this is the rummiest way of offerin' to give a fellow a glass as I ever did come across since I was a tadpole, as sure as my name's Dick Jones," remarked the sailor, sitting down opposite the captain, and turning up the cuffs of his coat.
"And I know it do I? Why should I know it? What do you think you are? Say, you'd think you were trying to kid yourself into believing you're the real thing the real, sweet, shy, modest Miss Vail. Cut it out! You're name's Smith maybe! And it's my money that's keeping you, and you belong to me do you understand?"
You here?" demanded Stacy. "I'm here, what's left of me." "Bring any 'possum for breakfast?" grinned Chunky. "No, but I've a rod in pickle for you." "All right. Keep it in pickle for yourself. I don't like sour stuff." "Hey, there, Bugs!" greeted another Ranger sitting up. "My name's Brown," Stacy informed him with dignity. "When did you come in?" "We blew in with the dawn," answered Dippy.
Denover," he said, "I've met an old chum down on the wharf yonder a countryman and I'd as soon have expected to find the President of the United States in this little one-horse town. His name's Davis Captain Davis, of the schooner 'Angelina Dobbs' and he's going to sail for Southampton this very night. There's a streak of luck. A free passage for you and for me up to Southampton to-night."
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