“Or his friend!” said Theon.
“Nay, remember, you are not a friend of very long standing, and something his junior in years.”
“But should that prevent him from giving me his confidence on such an occasion?”
“Perhaps not, but allow something to the Stoic pride.”
“I can allow nothing to it here.”
“No, because it touches your own. ‘Thus do I tread on the pride of Plato,’ said Diogenes, setting his foot on the robe of the Academic. ‘Yes, with the greater pride of Diogenes,’ returned Plato. But I have made you grave, which was not my intention. Metrodorus, how go you on?”
“Writing the last word.—There!—And now,” rising and advancing towards Theon, “let me embrace the youth who so nobly took up the vindication of my insulted Master. Perhaps you may not know how peculiarly I am indebted to you. Timocrates is the brother of Metrodorus.”
“How!”
“I blush to own it.”
“You need not blush, my loved son; you have done more than a brother’s duty towards him, and more than a disciple’s duty towards me. I suppose,” turning to Theon, “as you are a Stoic, you have not read the able treatises of Metrodorus in support of my doctrines, and defence of my character. In the last, indeed, he has done more than I wished.”