here was less densely packed. Kenkenes joined the crowd at this point.

Here was the canaille of Thebes.

They wore nothing but a kilt of cotton--or as often, only a cincture
about the loins, and their lean bodies were blackened by the terrible
sun of the desert. They were the apprentices of paraschites,[1]
brewers, professional thieves, slaves and traffickers in the unclean
necessities of a great city, and only their occasional riots, or such
events as this, brought them into general view of the upper classes.
They had nothing in common with the gentry, whom they were willing to
recognize as creatures of a superior mold. Among themselves there were
established castes, and members of each despised the lower and hated
the upper. Kenkenes slackened his pace when he recognized the
character of these spectators, and after hesitating a moment, he hung
the flat wallet containing the message around his neck inside his kamis
and pushed on. Every foot of progress he essayed was snarlingly
disputed until the rank of the aggressive stranger was guessed by his
superior dress, when he was given a moody and ungracious path. But he
finally met an immovable obstacle in the shape of a quarrel.

The stage of hostilities was sufficiently advanced to be menacing, and
the young sculptor hesitated to ponder on the advisability of pressing
on. While he waited, several deputies of the constabulary,
methodically silencing the crowd, came upon these belligerents in turn
and belabored the foremost into silence. The act decided the young
man. The feelings of the rabble were now in a state sufficiently
warlike to make them forget their ancient respect for class and turn
savagely upon him, should he show any desire to force his way through
their lines. Therefore he gave up his attempt to reach the temple and