I asked him: "Why don't you wait until somebody orders a grave dug?" "I
was invited to a wedding today," he said, "and I am enough of a prophet
to know that I would still feel the effects of it in my head tomorrow if
I went. Now of course _some_ body has been inconsiderate enough to go and
die, so that in the morning I would have to get up early and would not
be able to sleep it off."

ANTONY.

"You clown!" I would have said, "supposing now the grave doesn't fit?"

MOTHER.

I said that too, but he shook sharp answers out of his sleeve, as the
devil does fleas. "I took the measurement for Veit, the weaver," he
said, "who, like King Saul, towers a head above everybody else. Now,
come who may, he will not find his house too small; and if it is too
large, that doesn't hurt anybody but me, for, as an honest man, I never
charge for a single foot more than the length of the coffin." I threw my
flowers into the grave and said: "Now it is occupied!"

ANTONY.

I think the fellow was only joking, and even that is sinful enough. To
dig graves in advance is to set the trap of death too soon; the
scoundrel who does it ought to be driven out of the business.

[_To LEONARD, who is still reading._]

What's the news? Is there any philanthropist looking for a poor widow,