Dallas was enchanted. I saw he was one of those pale faced boys that light up suddenly. "Let's have some nicknames just for ourselves," he cried, "like boys in books."
"All right."
"You'll be Captain 'cause you know so much more about things than I do. I'll be Sub, and what will Pony be?"
"Babe," suggested Mr. Devering, "after Babe King, the great home-run hitter."
"Fine!" cried Dallas, "Captain, Sub and Babe"; then he flourished his arm, "Three cheers for Captain, Sub and Babe, hip, hip, hooray. We're the pals of—— What's the name of this lake?" and he stopped his shouting, which was quiet and unboyish, and turned inquiringly to Mr. Devering.
"Fawn Lake."
"We're the pals of Fawn Lake—three good pals and true."
I loved my nickname, which was flattering to my middle-age, and I stepped more quickly after the man and the boy.
"Hurry up, Sub," Mr. Devering was saying. "I thought we'd be half way up the trail by this time."
The boy's heart was so full of happiness and he had so thoroughly forgotten his fatigue that he suddenly broke out into song.