h her. I asked a jeweller friend of
mine to look at it just now, and judging as well as he could without
removing it from her neck, which was not allowed, he values it at least
at a hundred sestertia. Also, there goes with this lot considerable
property, situated in Tyre and neighbouring places, to which, had she
been a free woman, she would have succeeded by inheritance. You may
think that Tyre is a long way off and that it will be difficult to take
possession of this estate, and, of course, there is something in the
objection. Still, the title to it is secure enough, for here I have a
deed signed by Titus Caesar himself, commanding all officials, officers
and others concerned, to hand over without waste or deduction all
property, real or personal, belonging to the estate of the late Benoni,
the Jewish merchant of Tyre, and a member of the Sanhedrim--the lot's
grandfather, I am informed, gentleman--to her purchaser, who has only to
fill in his own name in the blank space, or any representatives whom he
may appoint, which deed is especially declared to be indefeasible. Any
one wish to see it? No? Then we will take it as read. I know that in
such a matter, my patrons, my word is enough for you.

"Now I am about to come to business, with the remark that the more
liberal your bidding the better will our glorious general, Titus Caesar,
be pleased; the better will the poor and the invalided soldiers, who
deserve so well at your hands, be pleased; the better will the girl
herself be pleased, who I am sure will know how to reward a generous
appreciation of her worth; and the better shall I, your humble friend
and servant, be pleased, because, as I may inform you in strict secrecy,
I am paid, not by a fixed salary, but by commission.

"Now, gentlemen, what may I say? A thousand sestertia to begin with? Oh!
don't laugh, I expect more than that. What! Fifty? You are joking, my
friend. However, the acorn grows into the oak, doesn't it? and I am told
that you can stop the sources of the Tiber with your hat; so I'll start
with fifty. Fifty--a hundred. Come, bid up, gentlemen, or we shall
never get home to supper. Two hundred--three, four, five, six, seven,
eight--ah! that's better. What are you stopping for?" and he addressed
a hatchet-faced man who had thrust himself forward over the rope of the
ring.

The man shook his head with a sigh. "I'm done," he said. "Such goods
are for my betters," a sentiment that seemed to be shared by