I inquired the next day what his name was; as I said I was often at
a loss for it, when talking with him. He replied that there was no
occasion for any one friend ever naming another, when their
society was held in private, as ours was; for his part he had never
once named me since we first met, and never intended to do so,
unless by my own request. "But if you cannot converse without
naming me, you may call me Gil for the present," added he, "and
if I think proper to take another name at any future period, it shall
be with your approbation."
"Gil!" said I. "Have you no name but Gil? Or which of your
names is it? Your Christian or surname?"
"Oh, you must have a surname too, must you!" replied he. "Very
well, you may call me Gil-Martin. It is not my Christian name;
but it is a name which may serve your turn."
"This is very strange!" said I. "Are you ashamed of your parents
that you refuse to give your real name?"
"I have no parents save one, whom I do not acknowledge," said
he proudly. "Therefore, pray drop that subject, for it is a
disagreeable one. I am a being of a very peculiar temper, for,
though I have servants and subjects more than I can number, yet,
to gratify a certain whim, I have left them, and retired to this city,
and, for all the society it contains, you see I have attached myself
only to you.
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