“’Zactly so. It is Greek for something, and that something is Perfection City.” “It sounds nicer.” “Maybe so, but you look here. Are we Greeks?” “No, of course not.” “Then why talk in Greek?” “I don’t know, except it is prettier.” “Do you suppose them old Greeks, when they went an’ founded cities, they called ’em names out o’ some other language they didn’t understand, or did they called ’em good solid Greek names as any little boy ’ud know what they meant?” asked Uncle David with rising energy. “I believe they called their cities by Greek names, in fact I know they did,” said Olive, hastily reviewing her stock of history. “An’ why?” asked Uncle David. “I don’t know.” “Because they wasn’t ’shamed o’ their mother tongue like we are. That’s why,” said Uncle David, clapping his big hand on his knee. “Oh indeed,” said Olive. “An’ that’s what I said, says I, ‘We are ’Mericans, we are founding a new city that’s goin’ to be great things one day. We have our principles. Let’s live up to them. We hain’t shamed o’ nothin’. Leastways not to my knowledge. We are goin’ to be an example to these folks roun’ here. We are goin’ to show ’em how to live a better life nor they ever did before. An’ how in thunder can we do that if we start by being ’shamed of our own mother tongue? We hain’t Greeks, we don’t talk in Greek. This hain’t Teleiopolis, this is Perfection City.’ That is what I said to ’em.” “What did they say to that?” asked Olive, much interested in the rugged honesty of Uncle David. “Wal, I don’t know as they said anything much, on’y Ezry, he said he guessed he’d had his fust lesson, an’ he come and shook hands an’ said it certainly should be Perfection City, an’ so it was.” “I shall think better of the name now,” said Olive. “Only at first I was afraid of people laughing, people who didn’t understand it, you see.” “Oh, people’ll laugh,” said Uncle David. “People does a heap o’ laughing in this world without makin’ it one mite merrier for anybody. I like laughing myself. It’s awful good an’ satisfyin’ to have a real square laugh, but t’aint that sort. Mos’ folks’ laugh hain’t got no more fun in it than the laugh of a hoot-owl. I’d a heap sight rather have none at all. You ain’t agoin’ to mind that sort, I hope?” Uncle David spoke with a shade of anxiety in his manner. “Oh no, I’m not thin-skinned,” said Olive with a superior smile. “Some folks is made that way. When they have found a tender spot in anybody they can’t rest no how till they’ve stuck some sort o’ pin into it.” “Tell me, does everything belong to everybody generally out here? It is so puzzling. This house, for instance, is it ours or yours or everybody’s?” asked Olive.