“Name?” inquired the sergeant, seeing him quiet at last.
“My name, bah Jove?” exclaimed the other. “Chauncey Van Ren——”
Again Mark gave him a poke.
“Peter Smith,” said Chauncey.
“John Jones,” said Texas.
“And yours?”
Mark glanced at the others with one last dying trace of a smile.
“Timothy O’Flaherty,” said he. “You understand,” he added, to ease his conscience, “they’re all fictitious, of course.”
The sergeant nodded as he wrote the names.