The Ferry (1)

Well, Klotho, my skiff here has been ready and in prime sailing-trim this long time. I have baled it out and set up the mast and bent the sail and furnished every oar with a thong. As far as I am concerned, there is nothing to prevent our weighing anchor and setting sail. But Hermes is late; he ought to have been here long ago. The ferry-boat is empty of passengers, as you see, though it might have made the passage three times to-day already. It is almost evening now, and we have not yet taken in a single obol. I know what will happen next. Pluto will suspect me of having been lazy in the matter, and all the while somebody else is to blame. But our noble and distinguished conductor of the dead has taken a draught of the earthly Lethe like any one else, and forgotten to come back to us. He is either wrestling with the lads, or playing the cither, or making speeches to air his nonsense; or very probably the gentleman is even stealing on the sly, for that, too, is one of his accomplishments. So he gives himself superior airs, and yet he is half one of us.