"
"Yes, put him down!" chorused the crowd.
"We'll give him plenty of elbow-room," added Webber. "Git back there,
boys, and give him a show."
As the group could be satisfied with nothing less, and Jim was aware of
their softer feelings, he disengaged the tiny hand that was closed on
his collar and placed his tiny charge upon his feet in the road.
How very small, indeed, he looked in his quaint little trousers and his
old fur cap!
Instantly he threw the one little arm not engaged with the furry doll
about the big, dusty knee of his known protector, and buried his face
in the folds of the rough, blue overalls.
"Aw, poor little tike!" said one of the men. "Take him back up, Jim.
Anyway, you 'ain't yet told us his name, and how kin any little shaver
walk which ain't got a name?"
Jim took the mere little toy of a man again in his arms and held him
close against his heart.
"He 'ain't really got any name," he confessed. "If only I had the
poetic vocabulary I'd give him a high-class out-and-outer."
"What's the matter with a good old home-made name like Si or Hank or
Zeke?" inquired Field, who had once been known as Hank himself.
"They ain't good enough," objected Jim. "If only I can git an
inspiration I'll fit him out like a barn with a bran'-new coat of
paint.
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