again, if you want to!' All misunderstandings were forgotten and I was
readmitted into the lad's good graces. Then I slipped off to sleep,
after profiting by his complaisance. But the youth, in the very flower
of maturity, and just at the best age for passive pleasure, was by no
means satisfied with only one repetition, so he roused me out of a heavy
sleep. 'Isn't there something you'd like to do?' he whispered! The
pastime had not begun to cloy, as yet, and, somehow or other, what with
panting and sweating and wriggling, he got what he wanted and, worn out
with pleasure, I dropped off to sleep again. Less than an hour had passed
when he began to punch me with his hand. 'Why are we not busy,' he
whispered! I flew into a violent rage at being disturbed so many times,
and threatened him in his own words, 'Either you go to sleep, or I'll
call father!'"




CHAPTER THE EIGHTY-EIGHTH.

Heartened up by this story, I began to draw upon his more comprehensive
knowledge as to the ages of the pictures and as to certain of the stories
connected with them, upon which I was not clear; and I likewise inquired
into the causes of the decadence of the present age, in which the most
refined arts had perished, and among them painting, which had not left
even the faintest trace of itself behind. "Greed of money," he replied,
"has brought about these unaccountable changes. In the good old times,
when virtue was her own reward, the fine arts flourished, and there was
the keenest rivalry among men for fear that anything which could be of
benefit to future generations should remain long undiscovered. Then it
was that Democritus expressed the juices of all plants and spent his