THE EDITOR. What! Not to save your life?

ANDROCLES. I'd rather not. I couldn't sacrifice to Diana: she's a
huntress, you know, and kills things.

THE EDITOR. That don't matter. You can choose your own altar.
Sacrifice to Jupiter: he likes animals: he turns himself into an
animal when he goes off duty.

ANDROCLES. No: it's very kind of you; but I feel I can't save
myself that way.

THE EDITOR. But I don't ask you to do it to save yourself: I ask
you to do it to oblige me personally.

ANDROCLES (scrambling up in the greatest agitation) Oh, please
don't say that. That is dreadful. You mean so kindly by me that
it seems quite horrible to disoblige you. If you could arrange
for me to sacrifice when there's nobody looking, I shouldn't
mind. But I must go into the arena with the rest. My honor, you
know.

THE EDITOR. Honor! The honor of a tailor?

ANDROCLES (apologetically) Well, perhaps honor is too strong an
expression. Still, you know, I couldn't allow the tailors to get
a bad name through me.

THE EDITOR. How much will you remember of all that when you smell