d beggar. "Look!" he cried, laughing
and pointing at Odysseus, "surely this man is a favourite of heaven;
for see how the light shines like a crown of glory on his hairless
pate!"

Then he called to Odysseus, and said: "How sayest thou, friend, wilt
thou be my thrall, and work on my farm among the hills for a fixed
wage? Thy business would be to repair the stone fences and work on the
plantation; thou wouldst have a whole coat to thy back, and shoes to
thy feet, and thy penny fee, and bread to eat all the year round. But
I can read thine answer in thy face: thou wouldst rather crouch and
whine for bread than do aught useful to earn thy living."

"Eurymachus," answered Odysseus firmly, "I would that I could prove my
manhood against thine in any trial of strength and endurance. Let it
be a match of mowing, in a rich meadow-land, on the longest day in
spring, and let us ply the scythe together, fasting, from dawn till
eve. Or give me a stout pair of oxen, mighty beasts, equal in
strength, and both well filled with fodder, and set me to plough a
field of four acres, of rich, deep soil--then wouldst thou see if I
could drive a straight furrow. Or stand by my side on the perilous
edge of battle, with equal arms, and try whether I would flinch sooner
than thou. A great man and a mighty thou seemest to thyself, having
never learnt what true manhood is. Poor windy braggart, if Odysseus
set foot in this house again, the doors would seem too narrow to thee
in thy haste to escape."

"Thou saucy knave!" cried Eurymachus, incensed by this daring speech,
"I will teach thee respect for thy betters"; and seizing a footstool
he prepared to hurl it at the offender's head. But Odysseus sprang
aside and ran to Amphinomus for protection; the heavy missile flew
hurtling through the air, and struck one of the servants, who was just
crossing the room, on the arm. Down went the man with a cry of pain,
and the wooers raised an uproar throughout the hall. "A murrain on
this begging loon!" exclaimed one. "Why came he hither to bring strife
among us?"

"Ye are mad, my masters!" said Telemachus, raising his voice; "verily
ye are flown with insolence and wine.[1] Ye had better go home and
sleep off your liquor before worse comes of it."

[Footnote 1: Milton, "Paradise Lost," i. 502.]

The wooers were indeed in a dangerous mood, and they began to finger
their weapons, and utter fierce threats against Telemachus. But
Amphinomus interposed, and b