Chæ. Do you ask me? Do you know Archidemides, my father’s kinsman and years’-mate?
Par. Why not?
Chæ. He, while I was in full pursuit of her, met me.
Par. Unseasonably, upon my faith.
Chæ. Aye, unhappily, rather; for other ordinary matters are to be called “unseasonable,” Parmeno. It would be safe for me to make oath that I have not seen him for fully these six or seven months, until just now, when I least wanted, and there was the least occasion. Come now! isn’t this like a fatality? What do you say?
Par. Extremely so.
Chæ. At once he came running up to me, from a considerable distance, stooping, palsied, hanging his lip, and wheezing. “Halloo, Chærea! halloo!” said he; “I’ve something to say to you.” I stopped. “Do you know what it is I want with you?” said he. “Say on,” said I. “To-morrow my cause comes on,” said he. “What then?” “Be sure and tell your father to remember and be my advocate[54] in the morning.” In talking of this, an hour elapsed.[55] I inquired if he wanted any thing else. “That’s all,” said he. I left him. When I looked in this direction for the damsel, she had that very instant turned thia way down this street of ours.
Par. (aside.) It’s a wonder if he doesn’t mean her who has just now been made a present of to Thais here.
Chæ. When I got here, she was nowhere to be seen.
Par. Some attendants, I suppose, were accompanying the girl?