ates and
oil jars,--to sail with the morning breeze. Swarthy shipmen ran up and down
the planks betwixt quay and ship, balancing their heavy jars on their
heads as women bear water-pots. From the tavern by the mooring came
harping and the clatter of cups, while two women--the worse for wine--ran
out to drag the newcomers in to their revel. Phormio slapped the slatterns
aside with his staff. In the same fearful waking dream Glaucon saw Phormio
demanding the shipmaster. He saw Brasidas--a short man with the face of a
hound and arms to hug like a bear--in converse with the fishmonger, saw the
master at first refusing, then gradually giving reluctant assent to some
demand. Next Phormio was half leading, half carrying the fugitive aboard
the ship, guiding him through a labyrinth of bales, jars, and cordage, and
pointing to a hatchway ladder, illumined by a swinging lantern.

"Keep below till the ship sails; don't wipe the charcoal from your face
till clear of Attica. Officers will board the vessel before she puts off;
yet have no alarm, they'll only come to see she doesn't violate the law
against exporting grain." Phormio delivered his admonitions rapidly, at
the same time fumbling in his belt. "Here--here are ten drachmae, all I've
about me, but something for bread and figs till you make new friends,--in
which there'll be no trouble, I warrant. Have a brave heart. Remember that
Helios can shine lustily even if you are not in Athens, and pray the gods
to give a fair return."

Glaucon felt the money pressed within his palm. He saw Phormio turning
away. He caught the fishmonger's hard hand and kissed it twice.

"I can never reward you. Not though I live ten thousand years and have all
the gold of Gyges."

"_Phui!_" answered Phormio, with a shrug; "don't detain me, it's time I
was home and was unlashing my loving wife."

And with that he was gone. Glaucon descended the ladder. The cabin was
low, dark, unfurnished save with rude pallets of straw, but Glaucon heeded
none of these things. Deeper than the accusation by Democrates, than the
belief therein by Themistocles and the others, the friendship of the
fishmonger touched him. A man base-born, ignorant, uncivil, had believed
him, had risked his own life to save him, had given him money out of his
poverty, had spoken words of fair counsel and cheer. On the deck above the
sailors were tumbling the cargo, and singing at their toil, but Glaucon
never heard them. Flinging himsel