It isn't much,
old fellow, but it's for remembrance' sake."
I took it from him and pressed his hand affectionately, and for a moment,
as the little sharpie rose and fell with the rising and falling of the
slight undulating waves made by the passing up to anchorage of a small
steam-tug, I almost believed that Tom had been to Venice. I still treasure
the little filigree gondola, nor did I, when some years later I visited
Venice, see there anything for which I would have exchanged that sweet
token of remembrance.
Bragdon, as will already have been surmised by you who read, was more of a
humorist than anything else, but the enthusiasm of his humor, its absolute
spontaneity and kindliness, gave it at times a semblance to what might
pass for true poetry. He was by disposition a thoroughly sweet spirit, and
when I realized that he had gone before, and that the trips he and I had
looked forward to with such almost boyish delight year by year were never
more to be had, my eyes grew wet, and for a time I was disconsolate; and
yet one week later I was laughing heartily at Bragdon.
Pages:
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190