He pulled off a little vase of wine that hung from his girdle and passed it to Menon, saying:
“I should be proud if the father of the victor would drink from my bottle.”
And Menon took it, smiling proudly. Then he himself opened a little cloth bag and drew out figs and nuts.
“Here is something to munch, lad,” he said to Charmides.
Other people, also, were eating and drinking. They walked about to visit their friends or sat down to rest. Menon’s neighbor sank upon his seat with a sigh.
“This is the first time I have sat down since sunrise,” he laughed.
Then the pentathlon was announced. Everyone leaped to his feet again. A group of boys stood ready behind a line. One of the judges was softening the ground with a pick. An umpire made a speech to the lads. Then, at a word, a boy took up the lead jumping weights. He swung his hands back and forth, swaying his graceful body with them. Then a backward jerk! He threw his weights behind him and leaped. The judges quickly measured and called the distance. Then another boy leaped, and another, and another—twenty or more. Last Creon took the weights and toed the line.
“Creon! Creon!” shouted the crowd: “The victor! Creon again!”
He swung and swayed and then sailed through the air.
“By Herakles!” shouted a man near Charmides. “He alights like a sea-gull.”