“Oh Joy him say call new boy ‘Oh Hell.’“

“Oh ho!” Forrest laughed in appreciation. “Oh Joy is a josher. A good name, but it won’t do. There is the Missus. We’ve got to think another name.”

“Oh Ho, that very good name.”

Forrest’s exclamation was still ringing in his consciousness so that he recognized the source of Oh My’s inspiration.

“Very well. The boy’s name is Oh Ho.”

Oh My lowered his head, ebbed swiftly through the French windows, and as swiftly returned with the rest of Forrest’s clothes-gear, helping him into undershirt and shirt, tossing a tie around his neck for him to knot, and, kneeling, putting on his leggings and spurs. A Baden Powell hat and a quirt completed his appareling —