Vol. VI No. 1 - Modernist Magazines Project

THE STONE AND THE ANT
gave him this information, and then, vaulting the railings mounted
the stairs. At the top, a queer feeling of power came to him. At
that moment he experienced the sublime for the second time in his
life. Any fool could look down in this way, but not with the same
perspective as he.
It was early, so that the regular stream of home-going pedestrians
was not yet at its thickest. Nevertheless, London Bridge and King
William Street were alive with ants, and every one looked like every
other one. But what amazed him most was their numbers. Swarms and
swarms.
He leaned forward to view still further afield, towards Cheapside
and St. Paul's, and a portion of the rail, weak with rust, gave way.
He went over without a cry. There was no one to mourn him
and he might have been forgotten sooner than he was, but that his
business affairs were not what they had seemed. In his forward, trampling
rush through two years of life, he had neglected many details,
and only one of his half-dozen companies still survives.
It is very fortunate that he left no one to mourn him.
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