He did a stage whisper, which I heard clearly.
“Your room?” he said. “I never dreamed it!” But he had known, for I told him I slept over the little room which he used for an office. “Unlash the ballast, Juliet!” he commanded, and I did. Then I said: “I wish I could come down!” He said he wished so too, smiled and waved at me, and I said I’d send him a note a little later on a string. Then I went inside and undid the package. It held a wonderful box of candy with enough pink ribbon on it for two chemises, a copy of “Little Women,” and a dear little box with an ivory kitten perched on top. Inside of this he had a rhyme. It said:
“This Thomas Cat, the mop-post brings,
Is well bred, calm, and never sings
Upon a fence at night.
The box he guards is for Nat’s rings,
Cuff buttons, studs, and other things
(Keeps them from dust and sight).
And if, my dear, life cruel stings,
Remember S. K.’s friendship clings