Presently an official strolled in from another department. He was a middle-aged, corpulent, and cheerful-looking man, dressed in gaudy coloured tissue, on which all manner of strange birds were depicted. He was bursting with news.
“Phocas is going to win,” he said. “It is certain.”
Cephalus looked vaguely up from his book and said: “Oh!”
Theophilus and Rufinus paid no attention to the remark.
“Well,” continued the new-comer cheerfully, “Who will come to the races with me?”
As soon as he heard the word races, Rufinus looked up from his scribbling. “I will come,” he said, “if I can get leave.”
“I did not know you cared for that sort of thing,” said Cephalus.
Rufinus blushed and murmured something about going every now and then. He walked out of the room, and sought the Referendarius in the next room. This official was reading a document. He did not look up when Rufinus entered, but went on with his reading. At last, after a prolonged interval, he turned round and said: “What is it?”
“May I go to the races?” asked Rufinus.
“Well,” said the high official, “what about your work?”