“I should say so!”
Percy Cute took a comprehensive survey of the young chief.
“Holloa! have you taken this young chap prisoner?” he inquired.
“No; he is a friend. This is a Nez Perce chief—Multuomah.”
Cute offered his hand cordially to the chief.
“How are you, Multum-in-parvo?” he exclaimed.
Multuomah smiled and shook hands with Cute, who, with his irrepressible spirit of mischief, gave him his favorite hand-squeeze; but Cute was glad enough to withdraw his fat fingers, and dance away with a wry face. The answering squeeze had proved too much for him.
“He’s an Odd Fellow!” he remarked, as he straightened out his cramped fingers.
“How do you know that?” asked Percy Vere, enjoying his discomfiture.
“’Cause he’s given me the grip.”