"No, but he bounds about," Sabre explained. "You know the way he bounds about, Mabel. He's about ninety—"
"I'm sure he isn't, nor fifty."
"Well, anyway, he's past his first youth, but he's always bounding about to show how agile he is. He's always calling out 'Ri—te O!' and jumping to do a thing when there's no need to jump. Hopscotch. What can you call him but Hopscotch?"
"But why call him anything?" Mabel said. "His name's Millet."
Her annoyance caused her voice to squeak. "Why call him anything?"
Sabre laughed. "Well, you know how a ridiculous thing like that comes into your head and you can't get rid of it. You know the way."
Mabel declared she was sure she did not know the way. "They don't come into my head. Look at the Perches—not that I care what name you call them. Rod, Pole or Perch! What's the sense of it? What does it mean?"
Sabre said it didn't mean anything. "You just get some one called Perch and then you can't help thinking of that absurd thing rod, pole or perch. It just comes."
"I call it childish and rude," Mabel said.