Sitting in a large café, one day, I saw the strangest sight. For an old
man, a wretched, dusty, unkempt dotard, entered at the far end, and
shuffled swiftly along the room. And as he passed the little tables, the
crowds of women there smiled on him, threw him flowers, tried to seize
his hand, and endeavoured in a hundred ways to attract his attention and
win his regard.
‘Now, this is surely the strangest thing that ever happened,’ I said, as
the old man approached; ‘is he a famous poet, then, or has he a
cellar-full of diamonds, that the women should love him so!’
He must have heard me, or noted the surprise written on my face, for
when he came closer, he stayed his feet for a moment, and muttered in my
ear:--
‘I was ever a great lady-killer! My name is Time’; and he chuckled
horribly.