temples. Galen had the wrinkled, smiling, shrewd face of an old
philosopher who understood the trick of making himself socially
prominent in order to pursue his calling unimpeded by the bitter
jealousies of rivals. He understood all about charlatanry, mocked it in
all its disguises and knew how to defeat it with sarcastic wit. He wore
none of the distinguishing insignia that practising physicians usually
favored; the studied plainness of his attire was a notable contrast to
the costly magnificence of Pertinax, whose double-purple-bordered and
fringed toga, beautifully woven linen and jeweled ornaments seemed
chosen to combine suggestions of the many public offices he had
succeeded to.

He was a tall, lean, handsome veteran with naturally curly fair hair and
a beard that, had it been dark, would have made him look like an
Assyrian. There was a world of humor in his eyes, and an expression on
his weathered face of wonder at the ways of men--an almost comical
confession of his own inferiority of birth, combined with matter-of-fact
ability to do whatever called for strength, endurance and mere ordinary
common sense.

"You are almost ashamed of your own good fortune," Galen told him. "You
wear all that jewelry, and swagger like the youngest tribune, to conceal
your diffidence. Being honest, you are naturally frugal; but you are
ashamed of your own honesty, so you imitate the court's extravagance and
made up for it with little meannesses that comfort your sense of
extremes. The truth is, Pertinax, you are a man with a boy's
enthusiasms, a boy with a man's experience."

"You ought to know," said Pertinax. "You tutored Commodus. Whoever
could take a murderer at the age of twelve and keep him from breaking