You know you do."
"I know I don't! Say--I've gone an' christened the cuss."
"You have?" said Mandy, in a tone of intense interest. "Tell me its
name."
"It's a her, Mandy, an' me an' Pete fixed on _By-Jo_. That's
French, Mandy," he added triumphantly, "an' it means a gem, a
_jool_, an' that's what she is--a regler ruby!"
"It don't sound like French," said Amanda doubtfully.
"That French feller," replied Nal, with the fine scorn of the Anglo-
Saxon, "him as keeps the 'Last Chance' saloon, pronounces it By-Jew,
but he's as ignorant as a fool, an' By-Jo seems to come kind o'
nateral."
"Ye might ha' called the filly, Amandy, Nal."
The honest face of Rinaldo flushed scarlet. He squirmed--I use the
word advisedly--and nearly fell off the fence.
"If there was a nickel-in-the-slot kickin' machine around San
Lorenzy," he cried, "I'd take a dollar dose right now! Gosh! What a
clam I am! I give ye my word, Mandy, that the notion o' callin' the
filly after you never entered my silly head. Never onst!
_Jee_whillikins! this makes me feel awful bad."
He wiped his broad forehead with a large white silk pocket-
handkerchief, horribly scented with patchouli.
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