"We'll have to do this thing in the orthodox way, Augusta, or that horse will laugh himself to death at us."
"I know what goes on first," Augusta defended herself against his implications. "But I don't know the name of it."
"Never mind," said Jimmie. "Go over and get the horse by the mane. Talk to him. Divert his attention. I'm nervous while he watches me fooling about with his necktie and suspenders. What the deuce is his name, anyhow? In another minute I'll be calling him 'it,' like a baby."
"Why, Jimmie, I forgot to ask!" Augusta confessed blankly, feeling herself convicted of a serious neglect. "Whatever shall we do?"
"But what good will that do? He won't know that it's his name."
"Tell him."
"But, how?"
"How did he find out his name in the first place?"
"I don't know—Oh yes," Augusta brightened, "You just shake the oats at him, or whatever it is for little horses, and you say Dan, Dan, or whatever it is. And that's his name!"