d before. The master-herald proclaimed the order
of the leaping: that each contestant should spring twice, and he whose
leaps were the poorest should drop from the other contests.

Glaucon stood, his golden head thrown back, his eyes wandering idly toward
his friends in the stadium. He could see Cimon restless on his seat, and
Simonides holding his cloak and doubtless muttering wise counsel. The
champion was as calm as his friends were nervous. The stadium had grown
oppressively still; then broke into along "ah!" Twenty thousand sprang up
together as Scolus the Thasian leaped. His partisans cheered, while he
rose from a sand-cloud; but ceased quickly. His leap had been poor. A
herald with a pick marked a line where he had landed. The pipers began a
rollicking catch to which the athletes involuntarily kept time with their
dumb-bells.

Glaucon leaped second. Even the hostile Laconians shouted with pleasure at
sight of his beautiful body poised, then flung out upon the sands far
beyond the Thasian. He rose, shook off the dust, and returned to the
mound, with a graceful gesture to the cheer that greeted him; but wise
heads knew the contest was just beginning.

Ctesias and Amyntas leaped beyond the Thasian's mark, short of the
Athenian's. Lycon was fifth. His admirers' hopes were high. He did not
blast them. Huge was his bulk, yet his strength matched it. A cloud of
dust hid him from view. When it settled, every Laconian was roaring with
delight. He had passed beyond Glaucon. Moerocles of Mantinea sprang last
and badly. The second round was almost as the first; although Glaucon
slightly surpassed his former effort. Lycon did as well as before. The
others hardly bettered their early trial. It was long before the Laconians
grew quiet enough to listen to the call of the herald.

"Lycon of Sparta wins the leaping. Glaucon of Athens is second. Scolus of
Thasos leaps the shortest and drops from the pentathlon."

Again cheers and clamour. The inexperienced Thasian marched disconsolately
to his tent, pursued by ungenerous jeers.

"The quoit-hurling follows," once more the herald; "each contestant throws
three quoits. He who throws poorest drops from the games."

Cimon had risen now. In a momentary lull he trumpeted through his hands
across the arena.

"Wake, Glaucon; quit your golden thoughts of Eleusis; Lycon is filching
the crown."

Themistocles, seated near Cimon's side, was staring hard, elbows on knees
and head on han