"Honey cakes! Almond cakes! Fig cakes!" sang the man. "Come buy!"
There they lay—stars and fish and ships and temples. Charmides picked up one in the shape of a lyre.
"I will take this one," he said, and solemnly ate it.
"Why are you so solemn, son?" laughed Menon.
The boy did not answer. He only looked up at his father with deep eyes and said nothing. But in a moment he was racing off to see some rope dancers.
"Glaucon," said the master to the slave, "take care of the boy. Give him a good time. Buy him what he wants. Take him back to camp when he is tired. I have business to do."
Then he turned to talk with a friend, who had come up, and Glaucon followed his little master.
What a good time the boy had! The rope dancers, the sword swallowers, the Egyptian with his painted scroll, a trained bear that wrestled with a wild-looking man dressed in skins, a cooking tent where whole sheep were roasting and turning over a fire, another where tiny fish were boiling in a great pot of oil and jumping as if alive—he saw them all. He stood under the sculptors' awning and gazed at the marble people more beautiful than life. And when he came upon Apollo striking his lyre, his heart leaped into his mouth. He stood quiet for a long time gazing at this god of song. Then he walked out of the tent with shining eyes.
At last it grew dark, and torches began to blaze in front of the booths.
"Shall we go home, Charmides?" said Glaucon.