“It’s hot, isn’t it?” he asked nervously.
“Quite hot,” said I.
Then he gulped as if it had been an effort for him to say that much.
“You were right the first time,” I added, which seemed to afford him a kind of childish pleasure.
“Now,” said I, “if you think I’m a soldier because I have on this khaki suit, you’re mistaken. I’m a fellow that writes stories and things, and I like to camp just as you do. I think you and I are very much alike. Will you tell me your name?”
He shook his head, smiling weakly. It seemed to me that he had no objection to telling me, but that he just lacked the stamina to do it. I therefore began to speak of something else and after a moment he said:
“Tasso.”
“Is that your name?”
He nodded as if he had done a great thing in telling me. Then a slight movement of my arm startled him and he jumped and trembled.
“Are you Italian?” I said; “is that your first name or your last name?”