The dead and missing had not even one word of remembrance. Human life was of little value in those days. On the other hand, the magistrate did not forget to mention that the lands of the city had suffered very little damage, almost all of them having been too high to be reached by the flood. The shocks of earthquake had caused warm springs, which possibly possessed healing powers, to bubble up in many places, and in that case they might become a source of great wealth to the city and perhaps render it as much frequented as Aedepsus in Eubœa.
As exaggerated rumors of the injury sustained by the city had been in circulation, this report was received with joy, and the assembly was in the best humor when a tall, thin man, with hollow cheeks and a long beard, stepped forward saying:
“I am a friend of the simple, frugal customs of our ancestors.”
“That’s why you go ragged and shoeless,” shouted a youthful voice from one of the nearest passages between the seats.
The speaker was a little disconcerted, but recovered his composure.
“I do not favor the new custom of bestowing on any one who does the place a trifling service the high-sounding title of benefactor of the city, and overwhelming him with rewards and marks of distinction. If we keep on so there will soon be as many benefactors as citizens; one after another is not only released from paying taxes, but granted money to boot, while the really useful citizens, the instructors of youth and the people....”
“Who is that speaking?” asked a white-bearded old man on the front row of seats, holding his hand to his ear to catch the answer:
“That is the orator, Philopator,” replied the person addressed, with a scornful emphasis on the word “orator.”
“He’s also called the man with the mustard face,” added another.
As these explanations were given to a deaf man, Philopator could not avoid hearing them. Perceiving that the current of feeling was against him, he continued more rapidly with visible irresolution.