PAUL had finished his day’s work at the quay-side of Thessalonica unloading a cargo of timber, and now sat watching two young men, followers of Christ and dear friends of his own, who, naked to the waist, were washing the day’s sweat and dirt from their arms and faces. They were Greeks—handsome, athletic, and full of gaiety.
“Art thou tired, Master?” asked the younger of the two, walking up to the great traveller and preacher and offering him a wet cloth for his face.
“What—with this kind of work?” said Paul, smiling. “Thou thinkest I am old and weak, I know,” he added, taking the cloth from his young friend and pressing it gratefully against his bared throat.
“No, dear Father, I don’t.... I will sit by thy side until Aristarchus has finished cleansing himself.... Father, I want to ask thee something.”
“Well, my son: ask.”
But the young man stared across the sea to Olympus and would not speak. Paul, divining the mood that was upon him, touched his arm gently.
“Ask me any time, my son.” Then he added eagerly and with some passion: “Hast thou told Aristarchus thou wishest to marry?”
“Marry?”
The young man laughed nervously and self-consciously.