"Such a funny name."
The boy scowled a little. "Just like your own nickname happened," he answered gloomily. "My father once said I was bright as a button, an' it made ever'body laugh. So they always call me Button-Bright."
"What's your real name?" she inquired.
"Saladin Paracelsus de Lambertine Evagne von Smith."
"Guess I'll call you Button-Bright," said Trot, sighing. "The only other thing would be 'Salad,' an' I don't like salads. Don't you find it hard work to 'member all of your name?"
"I don't try to," he said. "There's a lot more of it, but I've forgotten the rest."
"Thank you," said Trot. "Oh, here comes Cap'n Bill!" as she glanced over her shoulder.
Button-Bright turned also and looked solemnly at the old sailor who came stumping along the path toward them. Cap'n Bill wasn't a very handsome man. He was old, not very tall, somewhat stout and chubby, with a round face, a bald head, and a scraggly fringe of reddish whisker underneath his chin. But his blue eyes were frank and merry, and his smile like a ray of sunshine. He wore a sailor shirt with a broad collar, a short peajacket and wide-bottomed sailor trousers, one leg of which covered his wooden limb but did not hide it. As he came "pegging" along the path—as he himself described his hobbling walk—his hands were pushed into his coat pockets, a pipe was in his mouth, and his black neckscarf was fluttering behind him in the breeze like a sable banner.
Button-Bright liked the sailor's looks. There was something very winning—something jolly and carefree and honest and sociable—about the ancient seaman that made him everybody's friend, so the strange boy was glad to meet him.
"Well, well, Trot," he said, coming up, "is this the way you hurry to town?"