"Er—my dear, I wouldn't say anything about it, if I were you; for maybe your parents might not like to think that you had been repeating any of their conversation."
It took considerable effort on the part of the Admiral to prevent any farther disclosures, and the old gentleman was very glad when he reached the hotel, and an examination of the pictorial papers gave the child something new to talk about. The Admiral had scissors and paste ready, and allowed Trixy to clip at will while he endeavored to rob the scrap-book. He lost no time in turning the pages, but a hasty examination failed to disclose the sketch which represented fifty thousand dollars, so he looked again, with extreme care. Toward the end his heart sank, and at the last page he uttered a low groan.
"What's the matter?" asked Trixy, looking up from her work.
"I beg a thousand pardons, my dear. I merely gave way, for an instant, to a bad habit into which old gentlemen sometimes fall. How are you getting along? Oh, you're finding a capital lot, aren't you? Don't you want to stop a moment or two, and show me your book?"
Trixy began at once to turn the leaves, and to tell the story of each picture. The Admiral listened patiently as long as he could, but soon he said:
"Won't you show me the one that is like the sketch I made on the train the day we returned from Washington?"
"Certainly." Trixy turned the pages rapidly, but suddenly stopped and looked puzzled; then she exclaimed:
"Somebody's hooked it, I do believe!"
"Oh, don't say that!" said the Admiral, in a shaky voice. "Look again; perhaps you have pasted some other picture over it."