Part 25 (1/2)

”Our cat's name is Ben Hur,” said Tom helpfully.

”But there were about half a dozen streets still left and they were in a fix until some one remembered that there were several canary birds in the town. So they used up the canaries and had d.i.c.kie Street and Fluff Street and Lovey-Dovey Street--”

”Oh, get out!” scoffed Tom.

”You shut up! I'm telling this. And so then everything was all right until they got to looking the map over very carefully and found that they had missed one of the princ.i.p.al thoroughfares, a fine, wide boulevard running from one side of the town to the other. Well, they were in a fix then, for they had to have another name and they'd used all the names up, as far as they could see. The Mayor of the town was a widower and for a while it looked as though he'd have to get married again so they could name the boulevard after his wife. But he didn't like the idea of it; said he'd resign from office first; and about that time the City Treasurer remembered that his youngest boy had a guinea pig for a pet. They said that was fine, and they took a vote on it and decided to name the boulevard after the guinea pig. Well, the City Treasurer didn't remember what his boy called the pig and so they sent for the boy. And when he came the Mayor asked him what he called his guinea pig. 'Piggy,' said the boy. 'But that will never do,' said the Mayor, 'haven't you a better name than that?' 'His name's Piggy,' said the boy. Well, they argued with him and argued with him, and pleaded and pleaded, the Mayor and all the Council, but it didn't do any good. And the City Treasurer told the boy he'd take him home and give him a whipping if he didn't change the guinea pig's name. But it didn't do any good, for the boy said the guinea pig's name was 'Piggy,' always had been 'Piggy' and couldn't be anything else. So if you go out there now you'll find that the finest street in the city is called Piggy Boulevard.”

”That's a likely yarn!” laughed Bob.

”Well, that's the way it was told to me,” answered Dan gravely.

”Where did you say the place is?” asked Tom.

”Oh, out in Illinois somewhere; near Chicago, I think.”

”More likely it was right in your own State,” Tom retorted warmly.

”Now, don't you two get to sc.r.a.pping about your old villages,” said Bob.

”Neither one of them is worth living in. Why don't you live in Portland?

Then you won't feel ashamed of your town.”

”Huh!” jeered Tom. ”Portland! S'pose I did live there and some one asked me what place I was from. 'Portland,' I'd say. 'Oh! Maine or Oregon?'

they'd ask. No, sir, I don't want a city I have to explain. There's only one Chicago.”

”That's one good feature of it,” said Dan.

”Is that su-su-so?” began Tom pugnaciously. But Nelson intervened.

”You're wrong about Portland, Tommy,” he said. ”They wouldn't ask you 'Maine or Oregon'; they'd say 'Cement or salmon?'”

”We don't make Portland cement in my town,” said Bob disgustedly.

”Of course they don't,” Dan agreed. ”Portland is famous only as having been the birthplace of Henry Longworth Wadsfellow and of Robert Wade Hethington.”

”There's another life-saving station, Tommy,” said Nelson. ”What's its name?”

”Pamet River. Now, there's a fool name; Pamet. But I suppose they got crazy in the head like a fish when they got this far. I'll bet the rest of the names are terrors.”

”I heard that years and years ago all this part of the Cape was thick forest,” observed Bob.

”Oh, you hear funny things,” said Dan.

”Fact, though,” Bob a.s.serted.

”Well, a few trees would help some now,” said Nelson. ”It's a lonely looking stretch, isn't it? They say the State pays out thousands of dollars every year planting beach gra.s.s along here.”

”What for?” asked Tom suspiciously.