He followed my movements as a child would those of a necromancer.
Ink now was only lacking!
With one of my most winning smiles I drew near the ladies, and thus addressed them:
“Fasten forever the images of your beautiful faces upon the pages of my memory by lending me the jar of ebon pigment with which you add lustre to those matchless arches that shade your eyes!”
They returned my smile with entrancing grace and sweetness. But what was more pleasing still, they granted my request.
Halting for a moment at the cage of my friend, the parrot, who ruffled his feathers and eyed me most suspiciously, to moisten the pigment from his drinking vessel, I then strode with an air of triumph back to the table where Slim Lim sat nervously fanning himself, and said:
“Most noble Lord of the Peacock Feather, thy dull-witted, misshapen and worthless slave hath prepared brush, ink and paper; deign to set thy most honorable sign-manual to this paper so that he may withdraw his poor, miserable body and limbs from beneath thy sacred roof!”
So saying, I held out the brush to Slim Lim.
With trembling hand he took hold of it and rapidly traced the mysterious characters which were destined to open every gate and unbar every door until I stood once more on shipboard bound for my native land.
Folding up the precious document, I thrust it into my sailor’s pouch. But while I was flushed with victory, Slim Lim showed only too plainly that he was nearly beside himself with chagrin and vexation.