“Cheer up, Kid,” he grinned. “’Tain’t as bad as it seems. Ike’ll feel better after he’s had his vittles.”
Pete sniggered.
“Ain’t he comic?” he cried. Then, seizing the opportunity, while Ike turned round to retort he hustled him aside and usurped his place.
“Say, missie, it’s jest this, you’re the Golden Woman who bro’t us our luck. Some of us ain’t got your name right, nor nuthin’. Anyway that don’t figger nuthin’. We ain’t had no luck till you come along, so you’re jest our Golden Woman, an’ we’re goin’ to hand you——”
Joan started back as though the man had struck her. Her beautiful cheeks went a ghastly pallor.
“No—no!” she cried half-wildly.
“And why for not?” demanded Pete.
“But my name is Joan,” she cried, a terrible dread almost overpowering her. “You see ‘Golden’ isn’t my real name,” she explained, without pausing to think. “That’s only a nickname my father ga—gave me. I—I was christened ‘Joan.’”
Pete slapped his thigh heavily, and a great grin spread over his face.
“Say, don’t it beat the band?” he cried in wild delight. “Don’t it?” he repeated, appealing to the world at large. “‘Golden.’ That’s her name, an’ we only hit on it cos she’s got gold ha’r, an’ bro’t us gold. An’ all the time her pa used to call her ‘Golden.’ Can you beat it?” Then he looked into Joan’s face with admiring eyes. “Say, missie, that’s your name for jest as long as you stop around this layout. That’s her name, ain’t it, boys?” He appealed to the crowd. “Here, give it her good an’ plenty, boys. Hooray for the ‘Golden Woman’!”