“What do you think of Chrononhotonthologus?” said Newton to the woman.
“Eh! what dat?—say dat again, sar,” replied the woman.
“Chrononhotonthologus.”
“Eh! dat real fine name for piccaninny,” cried the woman, with delight in her countenance. “Many tanky, sar. Chroton-polygarse.”
“No, no,” replied Newton, laughing; “Chrononho-tonthologus.”
“Es, hab now—Hoten-tolyglass.”
“No, that’s only part. Chronon-hoton-thologus.”
“I see—very fine name—Proton-choton-polly-glass.”
“Yes, that’s nearer to it,” replied Newton.
“Well, then, that point’s settled,” said the planter to the woman. “Is it all right, Mattee?”