"You're a pretty spectacle! I'm another. What does that make?"
"A pair of spectacles, I suppose," said Davy.
"Right!" said the old man. "Here they are." And pulling an enormous pair of spectacles out of the other boot he put them on, and began reading aloud from his paper:—
| My recollectest thoughts are those Which I remember yet; And bearing on, as you'd suppose, The things I don't forget. But my resemblest thoughts are less Alike than they should be; A state of things, as you'll confess, You very seldom see. |
"Clever, isn't it?" said the old man, peeping proudly over the top of the paper.
"Yes, I think it is," said Davy, rather doubtfully.
"Now comes the cream of the whole thing," said the old man. "Just listen to this:"—
| And yet the mostest thought I love Is what no one believes— |
Here the old man hastily crammed the paper into his boot again, and stared solemnly at Davy.
"What is it?" said Davy, after waiting a moment for him to complete the verse. The old man glanced suspiciously about the shop, and then added, in a hoarse whisper:—