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My little rhapsody over, I prepared to leave my imminent domain. As I rose from my seat upon the rock, something small and white at my feet attracted my attention, and I picked it up. It was a handkerchief — the most preposterously inadequate handkerchief I had ever seen, or hoped not to see. For a postage-stamp, or even a baggage tag, its proportions might not have been absurd. As a handkerchief, it was a distinct farce, folly, and fiasco. In the corner of this ridiculous article, elaborately embroidered, was one word — “Susie.”
As a matter of curiosity, I would like to know whether there is authentic record of a single instance in which a man has left his handkerchief on top of a rock, a mile from the nearest neighbour.
