Ida’s eyes flashed wide open. “Why not, I’d like to know? Isn’t it as good a name as yours?”
“What has that to do with it? Ah—yes—you don’t quite understand. It is not the custom—in what we call society—to sign in that manner—it is a regrettable American provincialism. If you really wish to learn——”
“Fire away,” said Ida sullenly.
“Sign your own name—may I ask what it is?”
“My name was Ida Maria Hook before I married.”
“Ida is a beautiful and classic name. We will eliminate the rest. Sign yourself Ida Compton—or if you wish to be more swagger, Ida Verrooy Compton——”
“Land’s sake! We’d be laughed clean out of Montana.”
“Yes, there is a fine primitive simplicity about many things in this region,” replied Mr. Whalen, thinking of his spats and silk hat. “But you get my point?”
“I get you.”
“Oh!—We’ll have a little talk later about slang. And you mustn’t begin your letters, particularly to an acquaintance, ‘Dear friend.’ This is an idealistic and—ah—bucolic custom, but hardly good form.”