At this Dryas dashed up.
“Eëtíon,” he exclaimed, going pale. “Great Zeus! Dear fellow.”
Eëtíon displayed his horrible red knee and leg and as he did so reeled in Dryas’s arms. “Help me,” he pleaded. “Don’t leave me.” Then Eëtíon lay in the road with closed eyes and heard them talking.
“We ought not to stop at all. You know that.”
“We’ve got to stop,” said Dryas’s voice, half weeping. “I for one will not let him lie here to die.”
“But we can’t leave you here, Dryas. We need you in Athens. Who will introduce us to Themistokles?”
“I won’t leave him, you’ve got to wait.”
Some of them drew aside, discussing the matter in low tones. Eëtíon strained his ear to hear. He heard a scornful laugh.
“Suppose we do leave Dryas here, will he join us in Athens? By the gods, he will! Wasn’t he beside himself to come?”