"But what's the little youngster's name?" inquired the smith, once
again.

"Yes, what's the little shaver's name?" echoed the teamster. "If it's
as long as the pup's, why, give us only a mile or two at first, and the
rest to-morrow."

"I was goin' to name him 'Aborigineezer,'" Jim admitted, somewhat
sheepishly. "But he ain't no Piute Injun, so I can't."

"Hard-hearted ole sea-serpent!" ejaculated Field. "No wonder he looks
like cryin'."

"Oh, he ain't goin' to cry," said the blacksmith, roughly patting the
frightened little pilgrim's cheek with his great, smutty hand. "What's
he got to cry about, now he's here in Borealis?"

"Well, leave him cry, if he wants to," said the fat little Keno. "I
'ain't heard a baby cry fer six or seven years."

"Go off in a corner and cry in your pocket, and leave it come out as
you want it," suggested Bone. "Jim, you said the little feller kin
talk?"

"Like a greasy dictionary," said Jim, proudly.

"Well, start him off on somethin' stirrin'."

"You can't start a little youngster off a-talkin' when you want to, any