What'll we call him, fellers? Now, le' 's give him a reg'lar
story-book name. Prince Something-or-other. What say to--"
"That's all settled," said old Joey, his eyes full of soap and water
and squeezed so tightly together that they looked like wrinkles.
"Christine Braddock named 'im this morning. I forgot to tell you,
David. Your name is Snipe--Jack Snipe."
David flushed. "Why did she call me _that_?" he asked.
"Because you were lonesome, and there is nothink so lonesome as a
jack-snipe. Leastwise, that's wot she says. She asked me if I'd ever
seen a jack-snipe on a wet, dreary day, a-standing on a sandbar, all
alone like and forlorn. She said she always felt so sorry for the poor
little cuss--no, she didn't say cuss either. What was it she said,
Casey? You was there."
"She said 'thing,'" said Casey briefly.
"Right, my lad. Thing it was. Well, wot she says goes in this 'ere
aggergation, so from now on you are just Jack Snipe." He lowered his
voice. "There won't nobody call you David or Jenison after this, my
boy. It's too dangerous."
David was thoughtful. "Do you mean to say," he said, after a pause,
"that every person in this show knows who I really am?"
"You bet your life they do," said Casey.
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