I laid off from the railroad as sick. I went to a big art museum. I felt sleepy and laid down on the marble floor. But I looked up and saw I was under a long marble arch, straight like a column on its side and horizontal. It was supported at one end by an urn and a tiny crooked column above it. It looked dangerous. So I moved several yards away. I woke from my sleep as the great 40 yard marble thing started to fall. I just laid there. It landed a foot from my head. I turned and looked at a white marble lion--astounded that its smallest and thinnest parts did not crumble and hit me. I got up to tell someone of my good luck. Suddenly the room was filled with a charity sale, all the garage-sale junk you ever saw there in that room, on tables. People walked around the column on the floor in unconcern. I saw a red-haired guard with freckles who seemed friendly. I walked up to tell of my cleverness that saved my life. He didn't understand English very well, saying he was Ukrainian. And talked mostly in Ukrainian to me, with an English word here and there. So I joined the people looking at the stuff for sale. I looked at Street & Smith pulp westerns, some bound, some loose issues. Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes in volume sets, one in a large bread wrapper, each book like a slice, others in plastic one beside another, as people carry credit cards. Then a generous neighbor woman came up to me and gave me a beautiful "heirloom." It was a glass bowl-vase--between both in height--cut glass, blue glass leaves or painted blue spots here and there. In and around and below the glass dish was silver and gold wire, fine as hair, holding silver and gold leaves. In its bottom was carved in the glass, in red lettering--Sheffeld 1733." I assumed it had belonged to that famous cutlery family or an aristocrat with that name. I took it to the house where I lived while in college. I set it on a desk in my bedroom. The family paid no attention to me or the bowl since my son Willie had returned home. Emma and the three other children asking many questions, hugging him, and touching him. I looked from the doorway and saw that he had his usual quiet smile, saying nothing. His arms were thin as broomsticks, his neck bent forward, giving him a hint of hunchback. His hair fairly short and very black. One pimple at hairline, just under his left ear. His arms did not have marks of drug user. I wondered if he would go for a good physical. I hoped they would not drive him away with too many questions. I'm happy and unhappy he has returned.