“What do you ask?” he said in his rough way. “I am to go to Xenocles—and dictate to him to whom he shall marry his daughter? Make myself a laughing-stock for him and others? No, young man, you don’t know Thuphrastos.”
Hipyllos bent his head and fixed his eyes upon the ground. His last hope was destroyed.
There was a moment’s silence, in which the dog was heard rattling his chain outside.
Thuphrastos straightened his grey robe, rubbed his bald pate, and absently pulled his beard. Hipyllos felt ashamed of his request and looked thoroughly disheartened. At last Thuphrastos laid his hand on his shoulder and sat down on the couch by his side.
“Don’t lower your eyes like a woman,” he said, and then added in a kinder tone: “Pluck up your courage! There are other ways and means.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hipyllos, raising his head.
“Listen—I’m going to give you a piece of advice. The old general Stratocles once saw some of his heavy-armed troopers turn pale when about to meet the foe. He instantly shouted: ‘If any of you have forgotten anything in the camp, you can go and get it!’ One man sneaked timidly out of the ranks, followed by five or six others. ‘Good!’ cried Stratocles, ‘the cowards have gone! Now we have only brave men among us.’ Then he rushed forward, and the enemy fled.... But, young man, you don’t yet fully understand?”
Hipyllos made a gesture of denial.
“Well then,” Thuphrastos continued with a certain impetuosity, as though he could not utter what he had to say quickly enough, “I think your rival, Acestor, is a chatterer and a coward—I mean—that, like those slaves, he must be brought to show himself in his true colors. Then Xenocles—without asking anybody’s advice—will let him go.”
“Splendid! Excellent!” cried Hipyllos, clapping his hands. “Men don’t praise your clever counsel without cause. But how is this to be managed?”