"I had supposed so," I confessed. "It's a trifle unconventional; but,
then, he's one of the gods, and, I presumed, could dress as he
pleased. Your gods are independent, I should imagine, of the mere
decrees of fashion."

"The more exalted one's position, the greater the sartorial
obligation," retorted Hippopopolis, who, for a Greek and a guide, had,
as will be seen, a vocabulary of most remarkable range. "Just as it
happens that our King here, like H. R. H. the Prince of Wales, has to
be provided with seven hundred and sixty-eight suits of clothes so as
to be properly clad at the variety of functions he is required to
grace, so does a god have to be provided with a wardrobe of rare
quality and extent. For drawing-room tables, mantel-pieces, and
pedestals, otherwise for statuary, Mercury can go about clad in just
about half as much stuff as it would require to cover a fairly sized
sofa-cushion and not arouse drastic criticism; but when he goes to
business he is as well provided with pockets as any other speculator."

"Another idol shattered!" I cried, in mock grief. "But Apollo,
Hippopopolis--Apollo! Do not tell me he is not a virtuoso of rare
technique on the lyre!"

"His technique is more than rare," sneered Hippopopolis. "It is
excessively raw. It has been said by men who have heard both that Nero
of Hades can do more to move an audience with his fiddle with two
strings broken and his bow wrist sprained than Apollo can do with the
aid of his lyre and a special dispensation of divine inspiration from
Zeus himself."