"Then perhaps you sympathize with the meridonial section of the nation on the other side of the Gulf Stream." "Which section?" asked the stranger, looking a little puzzled. "The meridonial section." "Which is that? I don't know which meridian you mean." "I mean no meridian. Perhaps the word is a little irregular; I studied French when I was in the Bangerwhangerlang College in China, and I am sometimes apt to get that language mixed up with some other. Let me see, we were speaking just now, were we not?" "I was." "Sometimes I can't speak any English, and I had forgotten about it. If you prefer to carry on this conversation in Hebrew or Hindostanee, I shall not object," added Christy gravely. "I think I can do better with English." "Have your own way about it; but 'meridonial' in French means 'southern,' if you will excuse me for making the suggestion." "Then I am meridonial," replied the stranger, and he seemed to make the admission under the influence of a sudden impulse. "Your hand on that!" promptly added Christy, extending his own. "All right!" exclaimed the other. "My name is Percy Pierson. What is yours?" "Percy Pierson!" exclaimed Christy, starting back with astonishment, as though his companion had fired a pistol in his face. "What is the matter now?" demanded Percy Pierson, surprised at the demonstration of the other. "What did you say your name was? Did I understand you aright?" "I said my name was Percy Pierson. Is there any thing surprising about that?" asked Percy, puzzled at the demeanor of Christy. "See here, my jolly high-flyer, who told you my name?" demanded the son of the owner of the Bellevite, with a certain amount of indignation in his manner. "You did not, to be sure, though I asked you what it was." "What sort of a game are you trying to play off on me? I am an innocent young fellow of sixteen, and I don't like to have others playing tricks on me. Who told you my name, if you please?" "No one told me your name; and I don't know yet what it is, though I have asked it of you." "Oh, get away with you! You are playing off something on me which I don't understand, and I think I had better bid you good-morning," added Christy, as he started to move off. "Then you won't tell me your name. Stay a minute." "You know my name as well as I do, and you are up to some trick with me," protested Christy, halting. "'Pon my honor as a Southern gentleman, I don't know your name." "If you are a Southern gentleman, I must believe you, for I did not come from as far north as I might have come. My name is Percy Pierson," added Christy seriously; for he felt that this was actually war, and that the strategy that does not always or often speak the truth was justifiable. "Percy Pierson!" exclaimed the real owner of the name. "Didn't I just tell you that was my name?" "Undoubtedly you did, and that is the reason why I thought you were making game of me." "But how can that be when my name is Percy Pierson?"