"Besides," I adds, "I don't see the use bein' in a rush about it. Maybe were're savin' that up."
"Saving!" says Auntie. "For what reason?"
"Oh, general conservation," says I. "Got the habit. We've had heatless Mondays and wheatless Wednesdays and fryless Fridays and sunless Sundays, so why not nameless babies?"
Auntie sniffs and goes off with her nose in the air, as she always does whenever I spring any of my punk persiflage on her.
But then Vee takes it up, and says Auntie is right and that we really ought to decide on a name and begin using it.
"Oh, very well," says I. "I'll be thinking one up."
Seemed simple enough. Course, I'd never named any babies before, but I had an idea I could dig out half a dozen good, serviceable monickers between then and dinner-time.
Somehow, though, I couldn't seem to hit on anything that I was willing to wish on to the youngster offhand. When I got right up against the problem, it seemed kind of serious.
Why, here was something he'd have to live with all his life; us, too. We'd have to say it over maybe a hundred times a day. And if he grew up and amounted to anything, as we was sure he would, it would mean that this front name of his that I had to pick out might be displayed more or less prominent. It would be on his office door, on his letterheads, on his cards. He'd sign it to checks.
Maybe it would be printed in the newspapers, used in headlines, or painted on campaign banners. Might be displayed on billboards. Who could tell?