"Oo-ooh!" said Little Miss Grouch, making a little red rosebud of her mouth. "What magnificent language you use."
"Genealogists claim," continued the young man, warming to his subject, "that the family came from Provence and was originally De Dalesquinc, and that the name became corrupted into its present form. My friends often call me Smith for short," he concluded, in sudden inspiration.
"Very tactful of them," she murmured.
"Yes. You might have had the privilege, yourself, if you hadn't derided the name of Smith. Now, aren't you sorry?"
"I shall not call you Smith," declared the girl. "I shall call you by your own name, Mr. Sanders Daddle—Oh, it simply can't be true!" she wailed.
Chance sent Alderson along the deck at this moment. "Hello, Dr. Alderson," called the Tyro.
"Hello, Sandy!" said the other.
"You see," said the Tyro in dismal triumph.
Scant enough it was, as corroboration for so outrageous a facture as the cognomen Daddleskink, but it served to convince the doubter.
"At least, you have the satisfaction of being unusual," she consoled him.