"I know I don't! Say--I've gone an' christened the cuss."
"You have?" said Mandy, in a tone of intense interest. "Tell me its name."
"It's a her, Mandy, an' me an' Pete fixed on By-Jo. That's French, Mandy," he added triumphantly, "an' it means a gem, a jool, an' that's what she is--a regler ruby!"
"It don't sound like French," said Amanda doubtfully.
"That French feller," replied Nal, with the fine scorn of the Anglo- Saxon, "him as keeps the 'Last Chance' saloon, pronounces it By-Jew, but he's as ignorant as a fool, an' By-Jo seems to come kind o' nateral."
"Ye might ha' called the filly, Amandy, Nal."
The honest face of Rinaldo flushed scarlet. He squirmed--I use the word advisedly--and nearly fell off the fence.
"If there was a nickel-in-the-slot kickin' machine around San Lorenzy," he cried, "I'd take a dollar dose right now! Gosh! What a clam I am! I give ye my word, Mandy, that the notion o' callin' the filly after you never entered my silly head. Never onst! Jeewhillikins! this makes me feel awful bad."
He wiped his broad forehead with a large white silk pocket- handkerchief, horribly scented with patchouli. His distress was quite painful to witness.
"Never mind," said Amanda softly. "I was only joking, Nal. It's all right."