Claude-Amelius-Goldenheart saw that he had produced an unfavourable
impression, and hastened to set himself right.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "I am not making game of you, as you seem to
suppose. We are taught to be courteous to everybody, in our Community.
The truth is, there seems to be something odd about me (I'm sure I
don't know what), which makes people whom I meet on my travels curious
to know who I am. If you'll please to remember, it's a long way from
Illinois to New York, and curious strangers are not scarce on the
journey. When one is obliged to keep on saying the same thing over and
over again, a form saves a deal of trouble. I have made a form for
myself--which is respectfully at the disposal of any person who does me
the honour to wish for my acquaintance. Will that do, sir? Very well,
then; shake hands, to show you're satisfied."

Mr. Hethcote shook hands, more than satisfied. He found it impossible
to resist the bright honest brown eyes, the simple winning cordial
manner of the young fellow with the quaint formula and the strange
name. "Come, Mr. Goldenheart," he said, leading the way to a seat on
deck, "let us sit down comfortably, and have a talk."

"Anything you like, sir--but don't call me Mr. Goldenheart."

"Why not?"

"Well, it sounds formal. And, besides, you're old enough to be my
father; it's _my_ duty to call _you_ Mister--or Sir, as we say to our
elders at Tadmor. I have left all my friends behind me at the
Community--and I feel lonely out here on this big ocean, among
strangers. Do me a kindness, sir. Call me by my Christian name; and