Hope laughed merrily at that, and Poke grinned. “I wish you would,” he said eagerly. “You certainly would get your share of joshing, Senator.”
“Well, it’s getting on, fellows, and we don’t seem to have found anything very good yet. Can’t any one think of anything?”
There was a depressed silence until Jim said feebly: “Call it ‘Noname.’” This met with the reception it deserved. Hope knitted her brows and forgot, in her absorption, to finish the slice of cake she held. Finally Poke broke the stillness. “Who’s got a pencil?” he asked.
“Give it back?” inquired Jeffrey.
“I certainly will,” replied Poke, viewing it in disgust. “Now who’s got a piece of paper?”
“Any other little thing you’d like?” asked Gil, tossing him a box-lid. “A twenty-dollar gold piece or a silk hat?”
“Yes, I’d like silence,” said Poke severely. He began to write on the lid and the others, glad of a respite from thinking, watched him curiously. For a minute Poke scribbled and erased and frowned, but finally a satisfied smile dawned over his countenance.
“I’ve got it,” he announced. “Gil said all the Indian names had been used, my friends, but Gil, as usual, was wrong. Here, Jeff, is the name of your canoe.”
He tossed the box-lid to Jeffrey. On it he had printed in big letters:
MI-KA-NOO.