• I. Lycon, who

  • suspected no evil, continued his usual mode of li

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peristyle, scarcely ten feet long, was filled with a noisy, laughing party. Half a score of youths in mantles of every hue had formed a

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circle around two fighting quails. “I’ll bet fifteen drachmae against you, Opasion,” shouted one voice. “So will I,” added a second. “Hegesias’ quail is braver. See, your bird is gi

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ving way, Opasion—it yields again. Ha! ha! ha! Now it’s outside of the circle.” “Conquered, conquered!” shouted the whole party in chorus, joined by the freedman. “Your bird lost, Opasio

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n. Down with the money.” 232 The freedman, a short, stout fellow, with a foxy face, lifted a rumpled bird in the air and shrieked into its ear, as though trying to drown the shouts of victory. A

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t the same time the other bird was borne away in triumph, and then carefully taken under its owner’s arm as if it were the most costly treasu

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re. Lycon walked carelessly on to the so-called banqueting hall found in every large house, but which usually offered only a very limited s

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pace. He cast a hurried glance around the room but saw no strange faces. Seven or eight young men whom he met every day were just breakfasting

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