“Why are you so fidgety, puny one?” asked the Excelsior, “evidently the inhabitants of your country get small enjoyment out of life, because they do not train themselves to observe. If one travels faster than an ox can walk, it is not possible for him to observe the indispensable details of this world. I am going through life for the last time, my little fellow, and I want to see all that there is. I am in no hurry.”
We rode along in frisky pomp, and I tried to sit still.
“Who lives in that great mansion?” I asked, as we jaunted past the abode of some evidently wealthy citizen.
“His name was Missed-It.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yes, he died yesterday.”
“What a strange name;” I mused.
“No, not if you knew him,” said the Excelsior, “you know I never allow my great folk to have permanent names until they are dead. Then I name them. If you will go some other time to visit our cemetery you will see by the tombstones that several important personages have passed away this winter. You will see that I have had their names cut deep in the stones. For instance, ‘Natural Poser’ died in November; likewise ‘Poor Imitation.’ Then in December, we lost ‘Anybody’s Flirt,’ and a little later ‘Sublime Assurance’ had to die. And now little old ‘Missed-It’ is to be tucked away. He was certainly very rich.”
“How much did he leave?”