“And I am off again within this half-hour,” he interjected, looking at a curious watch he brought from the girdle of his tunic. “But tell me of this scene, was it much better than usual?”
“Well, perhaps not better, but just as good. When—”
“Don’t use names,” said Plucritus, hastily, as if he almost interpreted the other’s words. “Can’t you see I have a guest?”
“No,” answered the other, looking round superciliously. “Or rather,” he added, “we met Vestné without and she explained that you had here a beggar dependent on your charity.”
“Really—” broke in another, and then his tone altered to one of mock courtesy. “Your wardrobe seems somewhat scanty, sir. May I offer you a change of raiment?”
“This stranger surely has come from earth,” interrupted a third. “That planet which is one of our most fruitful gardens. Such a rarity deserves a golden cage and a public show day.”
“Why, this is he who wished to make a friend of that cold saint Virginius and failed,” put in another.
“Thereby proving himself for once not such a saint as he appears,” laughed a fifth.
“This is the spirit who wrote a book and confounded the devil with something less powerful than himself,” said a sixth.
“Ay,” sneered a seventh. “And in the same book he confounded men with women, and women with men in a way which was at times absolutely shocking.”