"Oh, not at all," says Amelia. "Of course, if I should happen to think of anything better within the next few days I will let you know at once." And out she floats. Vee gazes after her and sighs. "I suppose Cedric is rather a good name," says she, "but somehow I don't feel like using one that a stranger has picked out for us. Do you, Torchy?" "You've said it," says I. "I'd sooner let her buy my neckties, or tell me how I should have my eggs cooked for breakfast." "And yet," says Vee, "unless we can think of something better----" "We will," says I. "I'm goin' through them pages in the back of the big dictionary." In less'n half an hour there's a knock at the door, and here's a chauffeur come with a note from Amelia. On the way home she's had another hunch. "After all," she writes, "Cedric seems rather too harsh, too rough-shod. So I have decided on Lucian." "Huh!" says I. "She's decided, has she? Say, whose tag day is this, anyway--ours or hers?" Vee shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not sure that we should like calling him Lucian; it's so--so----" "I know," says I, "so perfectly sweet. Say, can't we block Amelia off somehow? Suppose I send back word that a rich step-uncle has promised to leave him a ton of coal if we call the baby Ebenezer after him?" Vee chuckles. "Oh, no doubt she'll forget all about it by morning," says she. Seems we'd just begun hearin' from the outside districts, though, or else they'd been savin' up their ideas for this particular afternoon and evenin'; for between then and nine o'clock no less'n half a dozen different parties dropped in, every last one of 'em with a name to register. And their contributions ranged all the way from Aaron to Xury. There were two rooters for Woodrow and one for Pershing. Some of the neighbors were real serious about it. They told us what a time they'd had namin' some of their children, brought up cases where families had been busted up over such discussions, and showed us where their choice couldn't be beat. One merry bunch from the Country Club thought they was pullin' something mighty humorous when they stopped in to tell us how they'd held a votin' contest on the subject, and that the winnin' combination was, Paul Roger. "After something you read on a cork, eh?" says I. "Much obliged. And I hope nobody strained his intellect." "The idea!" says Vee, after they've rolled off. "Voting on such a thing at a club! Just as if Baby was a battleship, or a--a new moving-picture place. I think that's perfectly horrid of them." "It was fresh, all right," says I. "But I expect we got to stand for such guff until we can give out that we've found a name that suits us. Lemme tackle that list again. Now, how would Russell do? Russell Ballard? No; too many _l_'s and _r_'s. Here's Chester. And I expect the boys would call him Chesty. Then there's Clyde. But there's steamship line by that name. What about Stanley? Oh, yes; he was an explorer."