A Weighty Standard

Moving along the desk blotter past the map book, I came across an antique turned-brass plumb bob lying on its side. Its tapered golden tip pointed uselessly toward an empty inkwell, lacking all purpose. Seeing an honorable standard lying prone, I sheathed my sword and squared my boots against the leather mat. Gripping the heavy knurled collar with both gauntlets, I hoisted the brass cone upright with steady, disciplined effort. Balancing its fine tip took complete concentration, but it soon settled perfectly vertical on its broad flat head, gleaming like a steadfast tower.