ir hands, they filled their cups out of a jar of mixed wine, of which
the dimensions answered worthily to the meal they had eaten. One of the
painters then proposed that they should hold a regular drinking-bout, and
elect Papias, who was as well known as a good table orator as he was as
an artist, to be the leader of the feast. However, the master declared
that he could not accept the honor, for that it was due to the worthiest
of their company; to the man namely, who, only a few days since, had
entered this empty palace and like a second Deucalion had raised up
illustrious artists, such as he then saw around him in great numbers, and
skilled workmen by hundreds, not out of plastic stone but out of nothing.
And then--while declaring that he understood the use of the hammer and
chisel better than that of the tongue, and that he had never studied the
art of making speeches--he expressed his wish that Pontius would lead the
revel, in the most approved form.

But he was not allowed to get to the end of this evidence of his skill,
for Euphorion the door-keeper of the palace, Euphorion the father of
Pollux, ran hastily into the hall of the Muses with a letter in his hand
which he gave to the architect.

"To be read without an instant's delay," he added, bowing with theatrical
dignity to the assembled artists. "One of the prefect's lictors brought
this letter, which, if my wishes be granted, brings nothing that is
unwelcome. Hold your noise you little blackguards or I will be the death
of you."

These words, which so far as the tone was concerned, formed a somewhat
inharmonious termination to a speech intended for the ears of great
artists, were addressed to his wife's four-footed Graces who had followed
him against his wish, and were leaping round the table barking for the
slender remains of the consumed food.

Pontius was fond of animals and had made friends with the old woman's
pets, so, as he opened the prefect's letter, he said:

"I invite the three little guests to the remains of our feast. Give them
anything that is fit for them, Euphorion, and whatever seems to you most
suitable to your own stomach you may put into it."

While the architect first rapidly glanced through the letter and then
read it carefully, the singer had collected a variety of good morsels for
his wife's favorites on a plate, and finally carried the last remaining
pasty, with the dish on which it reposed, to the vicinity of his own
hooked nose.