ery instant the noise grew. Pandora's box had opened, and
every clamour had flitted out.

At the northern end, where the porticos and the long Dromos street ran off
toward the Dipylon gate, stood the shop of Clearchus the potter. A low
counter was covered with the owner's wares,--tall amphorae for wine, flat
beakers, water-pots, and basins. Behind, two apprentices whirled the
wheel, another glazed on the black varnish and painted the jars with
little red loves and dancing girls. Clearchus sat on the counter with
three friends,--come not to trade but to barter the latest gossip from the
barber-shops: Agis the sharp, knavish cockpit and gaming-house keeper,
Crito the fat mine-contractor, and finally Polus, gray and pursy, who
"devoted his talents to the public weal," in other words was a perpetual
juryman and likewise busybody.

The latest rumour about Xerxes having been duly chewed, conversation began
to lag.

"An idle day for you, my Polus," threw out Clearchus.

"Idle indeed! No jury sits to-day in the King Archon's Porch or the 'Red
Court'; I can't vote to condemn that Heraclius who's exported wheat
contrary to the law."

"Condemn?" cried Agis; "wasn't the evidence very weak?"

"Ay," snorted Polus, "very weak, and the wretch pleaded piteously, setting
his wife and four little ones weeping on the stand. But we are resolved.
'You are boiling a stone--your plea's no profit,' thought we. Our hearts
vote 'guilty,' if our heads say 'innocent.' One mustn't discourage honest
informers. What's a patriot on a jury for if only to acquit? Holy Father
Zeus, but there's a pleasure in dropping into the voting-urn the black
bean which condemns!"

"Athena keep us, then, from litigation," murmured Clearchus; while Crito
opened his fat lips to ask, "And what adjourns the courts?"

"A meeting of the assembly, to be sure. The embassy's come back from
Delphi with the oracle we sought about the prospects of the war."

"Then Themistocles will speak," observed the potter; "a very important
meeting."

"Very important," choked the juror, fishing a long piece of garlic from
his wallet and cramming it into his mouth with both hands. "What a noble
statesman Themistocles is! Only young Democrates will ever be like him."

"Democrates?" squeaked out Crito.

"Why, yes. Almost as eloquent as Themistocles. What zeal for democracy!
What courage against Persia! A Nestor, I say, in wisdom--"

Agis gave a whistle.

"A Nestor, perhaps. Yet i