ure as well. In the meantime, Eumolpus, locked out as he was,
was being very roughly handled by the cooks and scullions of the
establishment; one aimed a spitful of hissing-hot guts at his eyes;
another grabbed a two-tined fork in the pantry and put himself on guard.
But worst of all, a blear-eyed old hag, girded round with a filthy apron,
and wearing wooden clogs which were not mates, dragged in an immense dog
on a chain, and "sicked" him upon Eumolpus, but he beat off all attacks
with his candlestick.

CHAPTER THE NINETY-SIXTH.

We took in the entire performance through a hole in the folding-doors:
this had been made but a short time before, when the handle had been
broken and jerked out, and I wished him joy of his beating. Giton,
however, forgetting everything except his own compassion, thought we
ought to open the door and succor Eumolpus, in his peril; but being still
angry, I could not restrain my hand; clenching my fist, I rapped his
pitying head with my sharp knuckles. In tears, he sat upon the bed,
while I applied each eye in turn, to the opening, filling myself up as
with a dainty dish, with Eumolpus' misfortunes, and gloating over their
prolongation, when Bargates, agent for the building, called from his
dinner, was carried into the midst of the brawl by two chair-men, for he
had the gout. He carried on for some time against drunkards and fugitive
slaves, in a savage tone and with a barbarous accent, and then, looking
around and catching sight of Eumolpus, "What," he exclaimed, "are you
here, nay prince of poets? and these damned slaves don't scatter at once
and stop their brawling!" (Then, whispering in Eumolpus' ear,) "My
bedfellow's got an idea that she's finer-haired than I am; lampoon her
in a poem, if you think anything of me, and make 'er ashamed."

CHAPTER THE NINETY-SEVENTH.

Eumolpus was speaking privately with Bargates, when a crier attended by a
public slave entered the inn, accompanied by a medium-sized crowd of
outsiders. Waving a torch that gave out more smoke than light, he
announced: "Strayed from the baths, a short time ago, a boy about sixteen
years of age, curly headed, a minion, handsome, answers to the name of
Giton. One thousand sesterces reward will be paid to anyone bringing him
back or giving information as to his whereabouts." Ascyltos, dressed in
a tunic of many colors, stood not far from the crier, holding out a
silver tray upon which was piled the reward,