Mrs. Wells told the visitor not to mind Mrs. Norris, and explained how she always said the opposite of what she really meant. But she was puzzled, and plainly showed it. Once or twice she started towards the door. It would be such a relief to turn the matter over to Geraldine. Meanwhile “Jawn” Galloway was carried away by the thought of getting rid of his plain Irish name. Evidently his good pal, “Mr. Dick”—if that was the name he had taken—had forgotten to mention “Jawn” Galloway at all. That was thoroughly characteristic of “Mr. Dick.” Well, why not play his own game and adopt a fancy cognomen, too? Professor “Jawn” Galloway was getting too well known, anyway. He couldn’t walk down the street without someone consulting him on some sort of mental upset. After an article of his in a popular magazine his friends had been calling him up of a morning to get his interpretation of their dreams of the night before. “Jawn” he would have to stick to, for he had admitted as much to this red-headed daughter, who had started out Geraldine and had turned into Phœbe and then into Mrs. Norris. Besides he never could get used to any other first name. “Dalrymple”—that sounded distinguished and upper-class or—ah! he had it—“De Lancey!”
“But if you would tell us your name,” Mrs. Wells was saying gently, “I am sure we could then understand—ah! here’s Geraldine!” Mrs. Wells was radiantly relieved.
In a word she put the mystery to Jerry, who understood immediately. It was “Jawn” Galloway, and she came forward with outstretched hand, intending to explain. But “Jawn” was on his feet and reaching out his own hand.
“Jerry!” he called. “I’m betting that this is the Jerry my good friend has been writing to me about. Only he didn’t have ink vivid enough,” he shook her hand warmly. “It is Jerry, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m ‘Jawn’ De Lancey.”
“De Lancey?” she looked puzzled.
“Didn’t Mr. Dick tell you?”
“Mr. Dick. Do you mean Mr. Richard?”
He laughed, throwing back his head.