ly over the dice.

And Drusus asked, "Did you ever see one Quintus Arrius?"

"The duumvir?"

"No--his son?"

"I knew not he had a son."

"Well, it is nothing," Drusus added, indifferently; "only,
my Messala, Pollux was not more like Castor than Arrius is
like thee."

The remark had the effect of a signal: twenty voices took it up.

"True, true! His eyes--his face," they cried.

"What!" answered one, disgusted. "Messala is a Roman; Arrius is
a Jew."

"Thou sayest right," a third exclaimed. "He is a Jew, or Momus
lent his mother the wrong mask."

There was promise of a dispute; seeing which, Messala interposed.
"The wine is not come, my Drusus; and, as thou seest, I have the
freckled Pythias as they were dogs in leash. As to Arrius, I will
accept thy opinion of him, so thou tell me more about him."

"Well, be he Jew or Roman--and, by the great god Pan, I say it not
in disrespect of thy feelings, my Messala!--this Arrius is handsome
and brave and shrewd. The emperor offered him favor and patronage,
which he refused. He came up through mystery, and keepeth distance
as if he felt himself better or knew himself worse than the rest of
us. In the palaestrae he was unmatched; he played with the blue-eyed
giants from the Rhine and the hornless bulls of Sarmatia as they were
willow wisps. The duumvir left him vastly rich. He has a passion
for arms, and thinks of nothing but war. Maxentius admitted him
into his family, and he was to have taken ship with us, but we
lost him at Ravenna. Nevertheless he arrived safely. We heard
of him this morning. Perpol! Instead of coming to the palace
or going to the citadel, he dropped his baggage at the khan,
and hath disappeared again."

At the beginning of the speech Messala listened with polite
indifference; as it proceeded, he became more attentive; at the
conclusion, he took his hand from the dice-box, and called out,
"Ho, my Caius! Dost thou hear?"

A youth at his elbow--his Myrtilus, or comrade, in the day's
chariot practice--answered, much pleased with the attention,
"Did I not, my Messala, I were not thy friend."

"Dost thou remember the man who gave thee the fall to-day?"

"By the love-locks of Bacchus, have I not a bruised shoulder to
help me keep it in mind?" and he seconded the words with a shrug
that submerged his ears.

"Well, be thou grateful to the Fates--I have found thy enemy.
Listen."

Thereupon Messala turned to Drusus.

"Tell us more of him--perpol