Toby nodded, and smiled gently. “About like that. Of course, I don’t mind a joke, you know. Folks I like can call me red-headed all they want to. But I don’t seem to care for it from strangers.”
“I see. I won’t ever say anything like that again,” Arnold assured him.
Toby gazed intently toward the island sliding past them to port. “I wouldn’t care if you did—now,” he murmured. “If I like a fellow”—his voice dwindled off into silence.
“All the more reason I shouldn’t,” said Arnold. “If I like a fellow I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
“No, but—when you like a fellow you don’t mind what he says,” returned Toby. His eyes sought Arnold’s face for an instant and then returned to the island. “You can call me Red-head if you want to. I wouldn’t care.”
“I guess I’d rather call you by your real name,” laughed Arnold. “I would if I was sure of it. Is it Toby?”
“Yes. Funny sort of a name, isn’t it? Tobias it is when it’s all there. Dad got it out of the Bible. All the male Tuckers have Bible names. Dad’s is Aaron. When he was a kid the boys used to call him ‘Big A, little a, r, o, n!’ His father’s name was Jephthah; Captain Jeph, they called him. I’m glad they didn’t tag me with that name!”
“I think Toby’s a rather jolly name,” said Arnold reflectively. “I like it better than Arnold.”
“I don’t. Arnold’s got a lot of style to it; sounds like it was out of a story. What do the fellows at school call you?”
“Arn, usually. Say, this boat can travel, can’t she? How fast is she going?”