“Mine? Oh, my name is Galusha.”      

       “Eh? Ga—WHAT did you say 'twas?”      

       “Galusha. It IS an odd name.”      

       “Yes, I'd say 'twas. Don't cal'late as I ever heard tell of it afore. Ga—Ga—”      

       “Galusha.”      

       “Galushy, eh? I see. Strange what names folks 'll christen onto children, ain't it? There's lots of queer things in the world; did you ever stop to think about that, Mister—Mister Bangs?”      

       Mr. Bangs, who was leaning back against the upholstered seat as if he found the position decidedly comforting, smiled faintly.     

       “We have all thought that, I'm sure,” he said. “'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'”      

       Mr. Pulcifer was not easily startled, but his jerk of surprise sent the car perilously near the side of the road.     

       “How in the devil did you know my name?” he demanded.     

       “Your name? Why, you told me. It is Pulcifer, isn't it?”      

       “No, no. My first name—Horatio. I never told you that, I'll swear.”      

       Mr. Bangs smiled and the smile made his face look younger.     

       “Now that's rather odd, isn't it?” he observed. “Quite a coincidence.”      

       “A what?”      

       “Oh, nothing, nothing. I didn't know your name, Mr.—ah—Pulcifer. My using it was an accident. I was quoting—ah—from Hamlet, you know.”      

       Mr. Pulcifer did not know, but he thought it not worth while advertising the fact. Plainly this passenger of his was a queer bird, as queer within as in dress and appearance. He turned his head slightly and looked him over. It was growing too dark to see plainly, 

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