“The tongue is barbarian,” said the boy, “and thy spoken words are barbarian, and yet I understand them; and now I know that the gods are kinder to me, because already I have greater wisdom than my fathers, and, perhaps, somewhat greater remains. Give to me, O cashier, the power to stay this pestilence.”
“For a young ’un,” said the cashier, “that’s pretty calm, seeing that I made that pestilence. I just want to go into your little account. Your great-grandpapa, my boy, incurred a little debt, and Zeus & Co. want the thing settled before they dissolve partnership. They’ve just taken those two lives.” He touched the body of the boy’s father lightly with his foot. “They’ve taken your beauty and your memory. How sweet the girls used to be on you, my lad! but you can’t recollect it, and you won’t experience it again. You are a bad sight. Now we shall just kill your brother, and give the sheep the rot, and then the thing will be square. Now then, it’s a hot night, and you’d better burn these two. I’ll show you how to do it on the cheap, without paying for it. As long as Zeus & Co. are paid I don’t care about the rest.”
The boy sat dazed, and did not speak.
“There’s a rich man built a first-class pyre twenty yards from your tent. They’ve gone to fetch his dead daughter to burn on it. We’ll collar it before they get back. I’ll take the old man, because he’s the lightest. You carry your brother. He was a hoplite, wasn’t he, one of them gentlemen that do parasangs? Oh, I know all about it.”
Still the boy did not speak. They took up the two bodies, passed out of the tent, and laid their burden on the pyre.
“You look as if something had hurt you,” said the old gentleman. “I like these shavings miles better than newspaper.” He pulled a box of matches from his pocket, and set light to the pyre. It flared up brightly.
Then the boy touched him on the shoulder, and pointed first in the direction of Eubœa, and then at himself. A word came into him from a future civilisation.
“Swop?” he said gently.
“All right,” grumbled the cashier. “I don’t mind. It gives a lot of trouble—altering the books. But I don’t mind, I’m sure. It’s a thirsty night.”
For a moment the boy stood motionless; then, with a little cry, leapt into the flames. And his life went to join his beauty and his memory in a land of which we know too little.