to wash the walls as if merely intending to clean the room. But he had scarcely commenced, when Callippides came behind him.
Their eyes met. The master looked so sharply at the servant that for the first time in many years the old man’s pale, wrinkled cheeks flushed.
d a st
well!” said Callippides drily and, without another word, he seized the largest whip he had left from the time of his passion for horse-racing and belabored the luckless Manes’ back until the shrieking slave clasped his knees and begged for mercy.
“Blockhead!” muttered Callippi
des, flinging the scourge into a corner, “don’t you know that these notes are my livelihood.”
From that day the old man never meddled with the inscriptions.
Whatever the “treasure-chamber” brought in, Callippides had not succeeded in making a new fortune. Men like him, wit