If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. "Quilt Arnold, is that you?" "It is, Sir," sputtered the janizary. "Think of me forgetting ten thousand so quickly!" "Go to, you old fraud! You'll never fool me again. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant.
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