The Desperate Object

A Dishonest Gain was driving in its luxurious carriage through its private park when it noticed something frantically and repeatedly running against a stone wall, endeavoring to butt its head against it.

"Hold! Hold! Thou desperate object," cried the Dishonest Gain. "These beautiful private grounds are no place for such work as thine."

"True," said the object, pausing for a moment. "I have other and better grounds for it."

"Then thou art a happy man," replied the Dishonest Gain. "And thy bleeding head is but mere dissembling. Who art thou, great actor?"

"I am known," said the object, dashing itself against the wall once more, "as the Consciousness of Duty Well Performed."