“Arkwright, what does 'M. J.' stand for?” demanded Calderwell.
“Oh, is that it?” smiled the man opposite. “Well, I'll own those initials have been something of a puzzle to people. One man declares they're 'Merely Jokes'; but another, not so friendly, says they stand for 'Mostly Jealousy' of more fortunate chaps who have real names for a handle. My small brothers and sisters, discovering, with the usual perspicacity of one's family on such matters, that I never signed, or called myself anything but 'M. J.,' dubbed me 'Mary Jane.' And there you have it.”
“Mary Jane! You!”
Arkwright smiled oddly.
“Oh, well, what's the difference? Would you deprive them of their innocent amusement? And they do so love that 'Mary Jane'! Besides, what's in a name, anyway?” he went on, eyeing the glowing tip of the cigar between his fingers. “'A rose by any other name—'—you've heard that, probably. Names don't always signify, my dear fellow. For instance, I know a 'Billy'—but he's a girl.”
Calderwell gave a sudden start.
“You don't mean Billy—Neilson?”
The other turned sharply.
“Do you know Billy Neilson?”
Calderwell gave his friend a glance from scornful eyes.