Hermits

Gothic vistas were in fashion. A rich man built one in his garden, complete with a cave which a rustic hermit could inhabit. "Come, you," he said to a poor man. "Dwell in this cave and be my hermit."

"How much?"

They negotiated a price. The hermit moved into the cave, ate roots and berries, wore a plain robe, and looked indescribably scenic.

"So what do you do for a living?" he asked the rich man one evening as the sun went down.

"Banking," the rich man said. "Law, also, and careful investment in the steam locomotive. I live an exhausting life. I take cold baths every morning yet I am aged prematurely by cares and woes."

"We should change places," the hermit suggested. "It's very relaxing in this grotto."

He envisioned them changing places, both of them learning from the experience, the ruthless businessman softening, his estranged wife rediscovering the soulful man she fell in love with years before, the orphans he had evicted from their orphanages learning that old Mr Smith was not so bad under his hard carapace, the orphanage restored, with food on the table every night, and old ladies helped across the road. God bless us every one, he thought.

"Are you kidding?" the rich man said. "I wouldn't live in a cave if you paid me. And stay away from my wife."