“Oh! it’s you,” said the boy named Figli. “What can a peddler do against the Eyebrow?”
“Who is it?” said the Blind Bowler.
“It’s a stranger with eyebrows,” said Figli, “who was kind to me to-day.”
The Blind Bowler sent a ball spinning up the alley, and all the ten pins fell down with a clatter.
“A strike!” cried Figli, joyfully.
“We’ll do it yet!” said the Bowler. “Only forty-six more! Never give up! Keep everlastingly at it, that’s my motto!” And he ran after the ball, set up the pins, and ran back, ready to throw again.
“If he has eyebrows,” said he, panting and wiping his forehead, “he must have a will of his own; and it must be a good will, or else he wouldn’t have been kind to you.”
He rolled the ball again, knocking down only six.
“Better luck next time!” he cried, and darted up the alley. “Never say die, and keep everlastingly at it, that’s the motto!”
“My boy,” said I, “I beg you to trust me, and to tell me who you are, and why—”