“Let some one else start it,” said Jim. “I’m not much good at names.” “All right. You’re next, Gil.”
“Well, how would ‘Crofton’ do?”
“Punk!” said Poke promptly. “What you want to call it, Jeff, is something—”
“Kindly await your turn, Mr. Endicott,” said Jeff. “What do you say, Hope?”
“I think something like—like ‘Dragon Fly’ would be pretty.”
“That’s not bad,” said Gil.
“Now, Poke.”
“‘Tippy,’” replied Poke promptly.
“It isn’t tippy,” denied Jeff.
“All canoes are tippy. Call this one ‘Tippi-canoe,’ only call it ‘Tippy’ for short. Get me?”
There was a groan of disapproval and Jeffrey looked at Jim.
“I don’t know,” said Jim. “I think what[206] Hope suggested is pretty good. Or you might call it ‘Kingfisher.’”
“Yes,” said Jeffrey, “or ‘Lotus.’”
“Yes, or ‘Pink Carnation,’” jeered Poke. “Or ‘Canary Bird.’ Why don’t you think of something appropriate? Now, ‘Tippy’—”
“Is idiotic,” interrupted Gil. “I think you need a short name, Jeff; something with ‘go’ to it—”
“That’s it!” exclaimed Jim, almost upsetting his coffee cup.
“What’s it?” they asked.
“‘Go To It’!”
“Really, that’s not bad,” commented Poke.
The others agreed, all save Hope. Hope said she thought it was a bit slangy.
“But that’s the kind of name you want,” insisted Gil. “Something snappy, Jeff.”
“Why not call it ‘Poke’?” asked that youth.
“Yes, ‘Slow Poke,’” amended Jim. “But I don’t call that snappy. What’s the matter with something Indian?”
“That’s the ticket!” cried Poke. “Jimmy, old boy, you’re coming on. Let’s call it ‘Laughing Water.’”
“Or ‘Minnehaha.’”
[207]
“Or ‘Silver Heels.’”
“‘Rain-in-the-Face!’”
“Oh, cut it out, Poke! Be sensible.” This from Gil. “I guess all the Indian names have been used up, Jeff. Why not call it ‘Hope’?”
Hope laughed merrily at that, and Poke grinned. “I wish you would,” he said eagerly. “You certainly would get your share of joshing, Senator.”
“Well, it’s getting on, fellows, and we don’t seem to have found anything very good yet. Can’t any one think of anything?”
There was a depressed silence until Jim said feebly: “Call it ‘Noname.’” This met with the reception it deserved. Hope knitted her brows and forgot, in her absorption, to finish the slice of cake she held. Finally Poke broke the stillness. “Who’s got a pencil?” he asked.
“Give it back?” inquired Jeffrey.
“I certainly will,” replied Poke, viewing it in disgust. “Now who’s got a piece of paper?”
“Any other little thing you’d like?” asked Gil, tossing him a box-lid. “A twenty-dollar gold piece or a silk hat?”
“Yes, I’d like silence,” said Poke severely.[208] He began to write on the lid and the others, glad of a respite from thinking, watched him curiously. For a minute Poke scribbled and erased and frowned, but finally a satisfied smile dawned over his countenance.
“I’ve got it,” he announced. “Gil said all the Indian names had been used, my friends, but Gil, as usual, was wrong. Here, Jeff, is the name of your canoe.”
He tossed the box-lid to Jeffrey. On it he had printed in big letters:
MI-KA-NOO.
“What’s that mean?” asked Jeffrey. Then it dawned on him and he burst into a laugh and handed the inscription on to Jim. “That’s bully, Poke! It really does look like Indian at first, too!”
“My Canoe,” Jim translated as he passed it on. “How did you think of it, Poke?”
Poke waved his hand airily, signifying that the thing was too trivial to be worth attention.
“The only thing,” said Gil, with a grin, “is that you’re pretty sure to call it ‘Mike’ for short.”
“Great!” laughed Jim. “You wanted[209] something short and snappy and there it is; Mike. You can’t beat it.”
Hope was less enthusiastic about the name than the others, and said she thought it would be a shame to call anything as pretty as the crimson canoe, “Mike,” but Jeffrey was delighted with the suggestion. “It will look bully when it’s painted on,” he declared. “I suppose they’ll do it in gold, won’t they, Gil?”
“If you tell them to they will, I guess. Let’s get a move on, or we won’t get home before the game begins. Toss me another banana, Poke.”
“How many have you had already?” asked his chum severely.
“Only one; honest.”
“All right; catch. Who wants some more cake? There are three bananas left, too. Have one, Jim? Any one else in the audience like a banana? Shove the basket over, Hope, and I’ll dump these things in. What time is it?”
“After twelve,” replied Gil. “We’ll have to hurry a bit.”
“It won’t take us twenty minutes to get back after we’re started,” said Jeffrey. “We’ve got the current with us, you know.”
[210]
“That is indeed painful news,” grunted Poke. “I hoped to be able to paddle back.”
“Jeff,” asked Hope as they retraced their steps, “will you teach me to paddle sometime? I’d love to know how. It isn’t hard, is it? It doesn’t look hard, anyway.”
“No, it isn’t hard, except when you’re going against the stream or the wind,” Jeffrey answered. “I’ll show you how any day you like after I get ‘Mike.’”
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