And just then, as luck would have it, he met Tom, to whom Glass-Eye had brought Miss Lily’s album, with a request for his autograph. Tom, whose formidable muscles were hardly capable of wielding a pen, especially to write “thoughts,” was holding the album with a sheepish look, turning it round and round:
“I say,” he said, as Jimmy passed, “write something; for me!”
“All right!” said Jimmy.
And he lightly turned the pages of the album, the famous album, said to be crammed with passionate declarations. Not a bit of it! Nothing but foolery and childish nonsense:
| “May joy and pleasure be your lot . . . trot, trot, trot!” |
| “... Regard me as a link. Loving Pal.” |
“Un afetuoso saludo y un augurio de feliz viaje le desea Pedro y Paolo.”
|
“Hoping we shall meet again, if not here, there. “Joe Brooks.” |
“Puedo decir que nunca he visto yoo ... tan cuida y bella....”
There was page upon page, in this style, with, here and there, a rough sketch: a heart pierced by an arrow, signed, “Castaigne;” a dried shamrock: “Blarney Castle;” a bit of seaweed: “Dundee.” Jimmy smiled to himself and especially at what he heard beside him, where Glass-Eye, while gazing wide-eyed at Tom’s immense arms, was telling him all her troubles: quite mad, Miss Lily, ought to be locked up! And she ought to know: never left her side since she began traveling by herself, day or night.