what "formed a jumbled chromo"? her handwriting? On the couch opposite the stateroom desk Bird fingered her choker of pearls and jotted down her memoirs. They formed a jumbled chromo. She overheard "the agonized voice" of a Secret Service man crying that the Service had never lost a President before, and she "hurt for him." She was aware of Lyndon, moving restlessly from chair to couch to chair. She intercepted a message from Parkland—Mrs. Kennedy wouldn't move from Major Medicine without the body. Johnson let it be known that 26000 wouldn't budge; they were going to "wait on" the gallant lady and the coffin. Television's square eye had become somewhat newsier; there were reports that the President had been the victim of a .30-.30 rifle. The stateroom's occupants kept loosening their collars and mopping their foreheads. Lady Bird alone felt chilled. She nursed her elbows and listened to Lyndon canvassing the men on the question of where he should be sworn in.