Little Poems in Prose

XLVI A LOST HALO “HULLO! are you here, my dear fellow?— You, in a house of ill repute; you who dis- dained all drink but the Quintessance, all is matter for surprise in this.” “My dear boy, you know how horses and carriages frighten me; just now, as I was crossing the street in a great hurry, tip-toeing in the mud, across the moving chaos where Death arrives at a gallop from every side at once, my halo, in the course of a sharp move- ment, slipped from my hand into the mire of the street. I had not the courage to pick it up. I thought it less unpleasant to lose my decora- tions than to break my bones. And then I said to myself—’Every cloud has a silver lining; I shall now be able to walk about incognito; to do degrading things, give myself up to vice like mere mortals.’—And here I am, just like your- self, as you see.” “You might at least have offered a reward for your halo, or reported its loss at the Police- station!”