“Yes,” briefly.
“What does ‘Popo’ stand for? Napoleon?” questioned Roden, much interested.
“No,” she said. “’F you wait an’ listen you’ll hear. Father always calls like that at first. ’F Po answers tuhecly he’ll jus’ stop. ’F he don’t answer, father’ll jus’ go on callin’ till he says th’ whole name.”
“AW-W-W POPO!”
Roden listened with absorbed attention.
“O-o-o-o Popo! Popo! Popo!” rang out the voice, with angry staccato insistence. “You Popo! Aw-w-w! you Popo!” Then, presently, “O-o-o-o! you Po-po-cat-e-petl!”
“Good heavens!” said Roden, bursting into laughter. “Is that really the poor little devil’s name?”
“Mh—mh,” said Virginia, with a nod of assent. “There was three of ’em born all to oncet. One’s called Popocatepetl, an’ one Iztaccihuatl, an’ one Orizaba. We call ’em Popo, an’ Whattle, an’ Zabe.”
“That triumvirate ought to rule something,” said Roden. “Could a nigger ever be President, Miss Virginia? What a lark it would be to speak of President Popocatepetl! What’s the other name?”