d soon bethink themselves of returning home and leaving him
to his own supper and bed, that a party of these worthies made noisy
interruption into the room. They brought with them an atmosphere of
boisterous gaiety with their clanking spurs and swords, their loud
verbiage and burly personality.

"Hech da!" yelled one of these in a stentorian voice, "whom have we
there, snug and cosy in the warmest corner of this hole but our three
well-beloved philosophers. Diogenes, old compeer," he shouted still
louder than before, "is there room in your tub for your friends?"

"Plenty round this table, O noble Gutter-rat," shouted Diogenes in
joyful response, "but let me give you warning that space as well as
common funds are running short, and that every newcomer who wants to sit
must stand the others a draught of ale apiece; that is the price of a
corner of this bench on which ye may sit if ye have a mind."

"Done with you," agreed all the newcomers lustily, and with scant
ceremony they pushed their way through the closely packed throng.

They took no notice of the mutterings of more sober customers, angered
at seeing their mantles crushed or feeling their toes trodden on. It
suddenly seemed as if the whole place belonged to these men and that the
peaceful burghers of the city were only here on suffrance.

The three philosophers had already called for some old Rhenish wine on
draught. Kaethi and Luise brought pewter jugs and more goblets along.
Soon Gutter-rat and his friends were installed at the table, squeezed
against one another on the narrow wooden benches. Pythagoras had already
rolled off his corner seat and was sitting on the floor; Diogenes was
perched on the corner of the table.

Socrates roused by the noise, opened a pair of heavy eyes and blinked
round him in astonishment. Gutter-rat deposited his bulky form close
beside him and brought his large and grimy hand down on the shoulder of
the sleepy philosopher.

"Hello, wise Socrates," he cried in his rough, husky voice, "I hope you
have been having pleasant dreams."

"No, I have not," growled Socrates laconically.

"Take no heed of him," laughed Diogenes, "he has a hole in his head
through which his good temper has been oozing out bit by bit. And yet if
you'll all believe me he has been reposing there so peacefully and
snoring so lustily that I thought he must be dreaming of Heaven and the
last trumpet call."

"I was dreaming of all the chances which Pythagoras