And: "Ich hight Evavne ab Daffydd y Marwnadd, mihr gneight," repeated his lovely charge demurely.
Red moaned. "Hey, Doc!" he yelled, "Hey, Sheila! Anybody got any spirits of ammonia with them? Toots, here, has the hiccups!"
Ramey went to his chum's aid. "What's wrong, Red?"
"It's Toots, here," complained Red aggrievedly. "I said to her, 'Look, Toots, I can't keep calling you "Toots" all the time. What's your real name?' So instead of giving me a straight answer, she makes with the double talk."
Dr. Aiken, who had been listening with amusement, now spoke up. "But the young lady did answer you, Barrett. She said she was 'Evavne, daughter of David and Marian.' And—" The old man smiled slyly—"I believe you've made something of an impression, my boy. She called you her—er—'knight'!"
"Yeah?" grinned Barrett. "Well, gee! That's okay, ain't it? Evavne, huh? Not a bad handle, Toots. But after this, you better talk English."
"She is talking English, Red."
"Huh? Aw, now, Doc—"
"Well, let us say, then, she is speaking the ancient tongue from which modern English derives. I fancy—" said Dr. Aiken speculatively—"our charming friend is a daughter of one of those races which first settled the British Isles. A Pict, or a Celt."
"All I got to say," grumbled Red, "is that going in the vilyishna with us didn't do much good if that's the best English she can talk. Come on, Toots. You and me is going to see Sugriva and have him arrange another language-exchange in the recording booth."