"Somewhere in a book," I explained, "we read about a man who wanted his memory 'kept green?'—Why green? Why not pink?—Why not blue?—Or even red with a cunning little white line in it?"
"Eh?" said my Father.
"If you were going away," I explained.
My Mother's hands clutched at his coat. She gave a queer little shiver. "Oh not—'away'!" she protested.
"For ever and ever," I explained.
My Mother's face came peering out from the shadow of my Father's shoulder. She started to laugh. And made a little sob instead. "Oh not for——ever——and ever?" she said.
We all sat and looked at each other. I felt awful queer in my stomach.
Carol kicked me in the shins. He wrote something quick on a piece of paper and shoved it across the table at me.
"China was the place that Carol meant!" I explained. "Oh he didn't mean—at all—what you thought he meant!—If you were going away to—to China—for ever and ever—and ever—and gave your Best Friend a whole lot of money like twenty-five dollars to remember you by—what color do you hope he'd keep your memory?"
"Oh—yes—why of course!" said my Father quite quickly. "It's a jolly one after all, isn't it!—Color—Color?—Let me see!—For twenty-five dollars you say? Yes Yes!—The very thing! Yellow of course! I hope my Best Friend would have wit enough to buy a Lamp!—Nothing fancy you know but something absolutely reliable.—Daytimes to be sure your memory wouldn't be much use to him. But nights—the time everybody needs everybody the most,—Nights I say,—looking back from—from China, was it that you designated?—Nights it would be rather pleasant I think to feel that one lived on and on—as a yellow glow in his friend's life."