Here was another balmy place to be in: I had forgotten the child's name; I hadn't imagined it would be needed again. However, I had to pretend to know, anyway, so I said:
"Joseph William."
The youth at my side corrected me, and said:
"No, Thomas Henry."
I thanked him—in words—and said, with trepidation:
"O yes—I was thinking of another child that I named—I have named a great many, and I get them confused—this one was named Henry Thompson—"
"Thomas Henry," calmly interposed the boy.
I thanked him again—strictly in words—and stammered out:
"Thomas Henry—yes, Thomas Henry was the poor child's name. I named him for Thomas—er—Thomas Carlyle, the great author, you know—and Henry—er—er—Henry the Eighth. The parents were very grateful to have a child named Thomas Henry."
"That makes it more singular than ever," murmured my beautiful friend.