Mr. Livy’s faded blue eyes gleamed. Epochs had become as nothing to him. Now he was Emperor of Rome, and then he had fought against robbers and road-agents in a new country. It was all one.
“Don’t I remember it!” he cried. “Don’t I remember how we hung seven robbers in one night from a single cottonwood! Don’t I remember how old Jim Gillis said to me: ‘For God’s sake, Levinsky, 196 get me one last drink before I die!’ I got it for him, and in a minute more he was dead!”
Jack and Carver’s eyes shone. They thought old tales were forthcoming, but they did not know the Emperor. He said no more of Vigilante days, but turned toward the stove to stir the porridge.
“I’ll get the water-cress for you directly,” he said with a return to his old dignity. “Give it to your father with my compliments, Miss Virginia. I sent some but recently to the censor. No payment, I insist!”
Thus dismissed, his guests passed reluctantly outside. Ten minutes later they were making their farewells. The Emperor stood between Nero and Trajan, and watched them go. He was glad of occasional visitors, but more glad to return to the knotty problems which were before the Empire.
“Good-by,” he called as they rode away. “Don’t forget to notice the statue of Athena just within the gate. It’s a recent gift from the Governor of Gaul.”
Then he went within the palace, passed through the lofty atrium, and entered his private room, 197 where he sat down to continue the story of his glorious reign.
Meanwhile his guests searched for the Athena. There might be something—a post, perhaps—that signified the goddess of wisdom to the plastic mind of poor Mr. Levinsky. But they could find nothing.
“She’s only a dream like all the other things,” said Priscilla. “Poor man! I can’t see how he can reconcile things in his own mind!”
“He doesn’t,” explained Virginia. “That’s the lovely part of it! He’s the happiest Emperor I’ve ever known of in all my life!”