"I saw a dead rat floating down stream," I remarked, casually.
The poet gave me a dark glance, but my expression was innocent and
frank.
"_In media vitae, sumus in morte_," he observed, sententiously, and
walked back to the lawn.
As I turned away, I met the doctor hurrying home.
He greeted me pleasantly, but there was curiosity in his eyes.
"What's the matter?" I asked, genially, for I felt I had scored one
against the poet.
"Whatever has happened to your hair? It looks very clammy and
streaky--and it's hanging over your ears."