e that is the
explanation."

"Well," said the Judge, throwing his cigarette into the fire, "if the
singer had never heard of De Reszke and Parepa Rosa, we may suppose him
a gentleman of such culture as to be familiar with the exquisite Greek
legend of Phoebus Apollo--that story would be sufficient to inspire any
man with his voice. Do you know it?"

Both girls answered with an enthusiastic entreaty for its recital, and
the Judge went to the library and returned with a queer-looking little
book, bound in marbled paper.

"It was my father's copy," he said, "an Oxford edition." And he turned
the leaves with loving carefulness until he came to the incident. Then
being a fine reader, the words fell from his lips in a stately measure
better than music:

"After Troy fell there came to Argos a scarred soldier seeking alms.
Not deigning to beg, he played upon a lyre; but the handling of arms had
robbed him of his youthful power, and he stood by the portico hour after
hour, and no one dropped him a lepton. Weary, hungry and thirsty, he
leaned in despair against a pillar. A youth came to him and asked, 'Why
not play on, Akeratos?' And Akeratos meekly answered, 'I am no longer
skilled.' 'Then,' said the stranger, 'hire me thy lyre; here is a
didrachmon. I will play, and thou shalt hold out thy cap and be dumb.'
So the stranger took the lyre and swept the strings, and men heard,
as it were, the clashing of swords. And he sang the fall of Troy--how
Hector perished, slain by Achilles, the rush of chariots, the ring of
hoofs, the roar of flames--and as he sang the people stopped to listen,
breathless and eager, with rapt, attentive ear. And when the singer
ceased the soldier's cap was filled with coins, and the people begged
for yet another song. Then he sang of Venus, till all men's hearts were
softly stirred, and the air was purple and misty and full of the scent
of roses. And in their joy men cast before Akeratos not coins only, but
silver bracelets and rings, and gems and ornaments of gold, until the
heap had to its utmost grown, making Akeratos rich in all men's sight.
Then suddenly the singer stood in a blaze of light, and the men of Argos
saw their god of song, Phoebus Apollo, rise in glory to the skies."

The girls were delighted; the Judge pleased both with his own rendering
of the legend and the manifest appreciation with which it had been
received. For a moment or two all felt the exquisite touch of the
antique world,