But now you've got to listen, and I wont let you up till you promise never to call me Rectus again." "The little rascal!" I thought to myself.

I might have made some noise in spite of the handkerchief, but I thought it better not, for I didn't know what else he might pile on my mouth.
"It isn't my name, and I'm tired of it," he continued.

"I didn't mind it at school, and I didn't mind it when we first started out together, but I've had enough of it now, and I've made up my mind that I'll make you promise never to call me by that name again." I vowed to myself that I would call him Rectus until his hair was gray.
I'd write letters to him wherever he lived, and direct them: "Rectus Colbert." [Illustration: "I WOULDN'T LIKE IT MYSELF."] "There wasn't any other way to do it, and so I did it this way," he said.

"I'm sorry, really, to have to tie you up so, because I wouldn't like it myself, and I wouldn't have put that handkerchief over your mouth if you had agreed to keep quiet, but I don't want anybody coming in here until you've promised." "Promise!" I thought; "I'll never promise you that while the world rolls round." "I know you can't say anything with that handkerchief over your mouth; but you don't have to speak.

Your toes are loose.