“What’s that mean?” asked Jeffrey. Then it dawned on him and he burst into a laugh and handed the inscription on to Jim. “That’s bully, Poke! It really does look like Indian at first, too!”
“My Canoe,” Jim translated as he passed it on. “How did you think of it, Poke?”
Poke waved his hand airily, signifying that the thing was too trivial to be worth attention.
“The only thing,” said Gil, with a grin, “is that you’re pretty sure to call it ‘Mike’ for short.”
“Great!” laughed Jim. “You wanted something short and snappy and there it is; Mike. You can’t beat it.”
Hope was less enthusiastic about the name than the others, and said she thought it would be a shame to call anything as pretty as the crimson canoe, “Mike,” but Jeffrey was delighted with the suggestion. “It will look bully when it’s painted on,” he declared. “I suppose they’ll do it in gold, won’t they, Gil?”
“If you tell them to they will, I guess. Let’s get a move on, or we won’t get home before the game begins. Toss me another banana, Poke.”
“How many have you had already?” asked his chum severely.
“Only one; honest.”
“All right; catch. Who wants some more cake? There are three bananas left, too. Have one, Jim? Any one else in the audience like a banana? Shove the basket over, Hope, and I’ll dump these things in. What time is it?”