'Good heavens, no! Why?'
'She did once. But I stole her gun, and I suppose she hasn't thought to get another. She's a good girl really, only she gets like that sometimes in the hot weather.' She looked round the room for a moment, then gazed unwinkingly at Rutherford. 'What did you say your name was?' she asked.
'Rutherford Maxwell.'
'Gee! That's going some, isn't it? Wants amputation, a name like that. I call it mean to give a poor, defenceless kid a cuss-word like—what's it? Rutherford? I got it—to go through the world with. Haven't you got something shorter—Tom, or Charles or something?'
'I'm afraid not.'
The round, grey eyes fixed him again.
'I shall call you George,' she decided at last.
'Thanks, I wish you would,' said Rutherford.
'George it is, then. You can call me Peggy. Peggy Norton's my name.'
'Thanks, I will.'