peated to himself.

When he was well out of the city and moving up the Via Salaria, the
trot and rattle of an approaching carriage drifted up upon him.

"Shall we stop and strip them?" asked Dromo, one of the accompanying
brigands, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Ay," responded Gabinius, reining in his own plodding draught-horse,
and pulling out a short sword. "Let us take what the Fates send!"

A moment later and Servius Flaccus was being tumbled out of his
comfortable travelling carriage, while one brigand stood guard over
him with drawn sabre, a second held at bay his trembling driver and
whimpering valet, and a third rifled his own person and his
conveyance. There was a bright moon, and the luckless traveller's gaze
fastened itself on the third bandit.

"By all the gods, Gabinius!" cried Servius, forgetting to lisp his
Greekisms, "don't you know me? Let me go, for old friendship's sake!"

Gabinius turned from his task, and held to his nose a glass
scent-bottle he had found in the vehicle.

"Ah! amice," he responded deliberately, "I really did not anticipate
the pleasure of meeting you thus! You are returning very late to Rome
from your Fidenae villa. But this is very excellent oil of rose!"

"Enough of this, man!" expostulated the other. "The jest has gone
quite far enough. Make this horrible fellow lower that sword."

"Not until I have finished making up my package of little articles,"
replied Gabinius, "and," suiting the action to the word, "relieved
your fingers of the weight of those very heavy rings."

"Gabinius," roared Servius, in impotent fury, "what are you doing? Are
you a common bandit?"

"A bandit, my excellent friend," was his answer, "but not a common
one; no ordinary footpad could strip the noble Servius Flaccus without
a harder struggle."

Servius burst into lamentations.

"My box of unguents! My precious rings! My money-bag! You are not
leaving me one valuable! Have you sunk as low as this?"

"Really," returned the robber, "I have no time to convince you that
the brigand's life is the only one worth living. You do not care to
join our illustrious brotherhood? No? Well, I must put these trinkets
and fat little wallet in my own wagon. I leave you your cloak out of
old friendship's sake. Really you must not blame me. Remember
Euripides's line:--

"'Money can warp the judgment of a God.'

Thus I err in good company. And with this, _vale!_"

Flaccus was left with his menials to clamber