"You sweet baby, you. Ours will have a tree the very first year."
Anne nestled to him. "Oh, Roger, he will be cute, won't he?"
"He?"
"Of course. It's got to be a boy."
"I rather hope so myself, although I should never dare to prophesy so vehemently. But I daresay you are right. What's his name? No doubt that detail's settled, too."
"It certainly is. He is Roger Mitchell Barton. How do you like it?"
"Great," Roger said very quickly.
But after he and Anne were in bed, and he had held Anne and assured her of his own free will that he was glad, and Anne was sleeping with his arms about her, Roger whispered to himself:
"Roger MITCHELL Barton!"