Often, when something was played of which he
knew the air, he would follow the notes by means of a sort of subdued
whistle, beating time with his hand; but this did not take his mind off
the reading, and if you allowed your attention to wander for a moment
and failed to read with proper emphasis he would say: "Please read that
last passage over again, and do try and read it distinctly."
Such was the routine of life on the yacht. It was little affected by our
occasional visits to Naples, Ajaccio and other ports. Some one always
landed to inquire for mail and to procure newspapers, one or two of us
got shore leave for a few hours, but so far as I was concerned, being
still in strict training and under close observation, my rare landings
were made only for the purpose of having my observation and memory
tested.
I brought back minute descriptions of Napoleon's birthplace at Ajaccio,
of his villa in Elba, of the tapestries, pictures and statues in the
National Museum at Naples, of the Acropolis, of the monument of
Lysicrates, of the Greek Theater and of the Roman Amphitheater at
Syracuse, and of whatever else I was directed to observe.
Mr. Pulitzer had had these things described to him a score of times. He
knew which block of seats in the Greek theater at Neapolis bore the
inscription of Nereis, daughter-in-law of King Heiro the Second; he knew
up what stairs and through what rooms and passages you had to go to see
the marble bath in Napoleon's villa near Portoferraio; he knew from
precisely what part of the Acropolis the yacht was visible when it was
at anchor at the Piraeus; he knew the actual place of the more important
pictures on the walls of each room of the Naples Museum--such a one to
the right, such a one to the left as you entered--he knew practically
everything, but specially he knew the thing you had forgotten.
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