Chilo, who had recovered in the open air and returned to the amphitheatre for Cæsar’s song, pushed up, and said,—
“I am here, O Radiant Offspring of the sun and moon. I was ill, but thy song has restored me.”
“I will send thee to Achæa,” said Nero. “Thou must know to a copper how much there is in each temple there.”
“Do so, O Zeus, and the gods will give thee such tribute as they have never given any one.”
“I would, but I do not like to prevent thee from seeing the games.”
“Baal!” said Chilo.
The Augustians, delighted that Cæsar had regained humor, fell to laughing, and exclaimed,—
“No, lord, deprive not this valiant Greek of a sight of the games.”
“But preserve me, O lord, from the sight of these noisy geese of the Capitol, whose brains put together would not fill a nutshell,” retorted Chilo. “O first-born of Apollo, I am writing a Greek hymn in thy honor, and I wish to spend a few days in the temple of the Muses to implore inspiration.”
“Oh, no!” exclaimed Nero. “It is thy wish to escape future games. Nothing will come of that!”