“But where’s the kite?” questioned Ned.
“Talent’s got it.”
“Talent?” repeated Dorothy.
“Yes, he’s the other fellow—the smartest fellow around. His real name—” he paused to laugh.
“Is what?” begged Tavia, coming over to the little fellow, with no hidden show of admiration.
“It’s too silly, but he didn’t choose it,” apologized the boy. “It’s C-l-a-u-d!”
“That’s a pretty name,” interposed Mrs. White, feeling obliged to say something agreeable.
“But he can’t bear it,” declared the boy. “My name is worse. Mother brought it from Rome.”
“Catacombs?” suggested Tavia, foolishly.
“No,” the lad lowered his voice in disgust. “But it’s Raphael.”